Control
by mamapranayama
Summary: Sam wants to live his own life while John wants to keep his son close in order to protect him, but both of them will find out that there are some things neither of them can control. limp!Sam, pre-Stanford
1. Chapter 1

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**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.**

**A/N: New year, new story. I do not have a beta, so suggestions, pointers or comments are always welcome.**

_****_

Control

By mamapranayama

OOOOOOOOO

_**Now**_

He never saw it coming.

He should have been more alert, less distracted by his own emotions, he had let his hurt and anger cloud his judgment, but none of that mattered now as he fell to the ground, the weight of the enraged creature pinning him to the forest floor.

Things moved too quickly for his mind to comprehend fully. All he could see was teeth and fur... claws penetrating his flesh. There was screaming, ripping, tearing, biting as the growling beast took hold of his leg and shook him like a rag doll, refusing to let go no matter how much he struggled.

His fingers stretched to grab it the gun that had fallen from his hands, but he could only graze the bottom of the grip. His only chance now was to fight.

With his free leg, he lifted a steel toed boot and launched it forward, directly into the muzzle of the animal. Stunned, the creature let go of his leg and backed up, but his freedom from its jaws wouldn't last long if he didn't act fast. A quick roll to his side and he had the gun in his hand.

There was no time to aim, only time to point and squeeze the trigger as many times as he could before the clip was empty.

The shots rang out across the forest, echoing off the rocky mountainside. Wood dwelling critters took off at a run, scattering from the reports while squawking birds took flight in a great flapping of wings.

In that second the attack was suddenly over. The creature that had sought to tear him limb from limb fell onto it's face, a final groaning snort escaping from it's nostrils until it lay completely still. He tested the creature, tapping it with his boot, but it made no sign of life or noise; it was dead at his feet.

Save for the blood rushing in his ears, and the soft patter of the rain as it fell into his face, the forest was now silent. For an indeterminate time, he fell backward and laid on his back just breathing, still too numb from shock to accomplish much else.

It was with considerable effort that he rose to his elbows to finally look down at the damage done. What he saw was shocking even to him. He'd been injured before, had had broken bones, numerous lacerations, concussions and had been tossed around too many times to count, but this...this was...he couldn't even wrap his head around this.

This was bad...very, very bad.

_**24 hours earlier... **_

"I just wanted to say...um..." Sam stammered nervously, hoping not to sound like a complete dork. "You look really pretty tonight, Rachel."

In return, a bright smile lit up his date's face and he felt the blood rush to his face. "Thanks, that's sweet of you to say."

In the dim lighting of the gym, broken up only by the sparkling rays reflecting off of the disco ball overhead, Sam beamed back, blushing brightly.

The compliment was heartfelt. Rachel had to be one of the nicest girls he had ever met. She was smart, funny, pretty and during his first day at this new school several weeks ago, she had been one of the few people to talk to him. But tonight, with her hair done up in a french twist, her pink satin gown and just enough make-up to enhance her facial features without being overdone, she was truly lovely.

Sam still couldn't believe his good fortune. Stuff never went his way like this. First, his dad had promised that they would finish out the rest of his senior year here in Nebraska, then had come the letter from Stanford saying he was accepted with a full-ride and finally Rachel had said 'yes' to coming to the prom with him. He felt the need to pinch himself just to make sure it was all real.

Sure, he still had yet to drop the whole 'I'm thinking about leaving for Stanford' bomb on top of Dad and Dean and still had no idea how to go about it, but for tonight, he wasn't going to worry about that. Tonight, he just wanted to focus on having a good time because sooner or later he knew it would all come to an end.

"You want to get some air?" He asked. It was crowded in the gym and a little too warm, plus he wasn't much of a dancer. On top of that, a little privacy right then just might give him some of the courage he needed to dare give her the kiss he'd been thinking about all night.

"Sure, sounds good." She agreed taking his hand and leading the way to the exit.

Outside, the night air of late May was cool, but not overly so. However, Rachel had gooseflesh popping up along her arms and she shivered slightly.

"Here." He said, taking off his jacket. "Take this."

"Thanks." She replied as he draped it over her shoulders. They walked hand in hand until they found a quiet bench and sat.

"I'm having a great time, Sam." She smiled up at him, he eyes twinkling in the moonlight and he could almost hear Dean's voice in his head._ Make your move, Sammy. 'Bout time you popped your cherry._

"Me too." He replied then leaned in, feeling his heart beating faster. He'd only kissed one other girl before and that had been six states and more than a year ago, so to say that he was nervous about doing this was beyond an understatement.

It was pretty obvious that he wasn't as smooth with girls like Dean was. He was always certain that they all saw him as some kind of freak and with his father's need to keep moving, he never could stay in one place long enough to get to know any of them to get to the point where he felt confident to try.

But, Rachel was different. She understood him, encouraging him to see that he could do anything with his life that he wanted to. She had been the one to suggest that he take his SAT's and apply to Stanford...if it hadn't been for her, he might never have bothered, thinking that he would be stuck in the life his father wanted him to lead forever. Though he knew that their relationship was finite since she had been accepted into University of Nebraska and he probably wouldn't see her again after graduation, she gave him hope of a life outside of digging up graves and chasing after monsters. For that, he'd always be grateful to her and tonight he wanted to show her just how much he appreciated her.

Sam's lips found hers and he felt her press into the kiss. It was soft and tender at first, but feeling his passion rise and her response to it, they were soon engaged in a long and drawn-out, make-out session.

Floating in a sea of endorphins, Sam was reluctant to break it off, but hearing a gaggle of students leave the building, they both ended the kiss mutually, neither wanting to be on display to the rest of the school.

Still breathing heavily, Rachel leaned in close to Sam's ear and whispered. "I think we should get out of here, don't you?"

"Uh...well...okay. Where?" He asked none so eloquently.

She leaned in again and whispered, making his eyebrows shoot up. "Oh..."

It didn't take Sam much convincing to leave the dance for some after-prom activities, so he stood up and offered his hand to Rachel. She readily took it and he led her arm in arm to the Impala Dean had grudgingly agreed to let him borrow for the night. _"No hanky-panky in the backseat, got it?" _His brother had warned him. Well...it wouldn't be in the backseat at least, Sam thought to himself and grinned.

No sooner than he had opened the passenger side door for his date was when the ominous big, black truck came roaring into the parking lot.

"Shit..." Sam groaned, throwing his head back, knowing that his perfect evening was about to come to an abrupt end. "Not now."

"What?" Rachel asked, following his eyes towards the advancing vehicle. "What is it?"

"Nothing good." he muttered back.

The truck pulled up behind the Impala and stopped, the passenger inside of it jumping out of the cab.

"Dean?" Sam asked, throwing up his arms in exasperation. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, Sammy. We got a job and Dad wants us to go now."

"Couldn't it wait a few hours? I mean...c'mon, man, I'm at my prom." Sam argued back. He could already feel his anger starting to rise. He looked over at the truck, the driver's door opening to reveal his father coming out to glare across the hood at him

"Dad..." He called to his father pleadingly.

"Now, Sammy. Get in the car." The grizzled vet ordered loudly.

Sam shook his head. "Why?"

"I'm not gonna argue with you, just do it. Now!" John turned without another word and jumped back into the truck, revving the engine.

Sam faced Dean again with a plea. "Dean..."

"Sorry, dude. Dad says we gotta go then we gotta go. I'll wait in the car for you." Dean offered a sympathetic face in consolation then nodded at Rachel who had been watching the family exchange in confusion.

"Sorry." Dean offered her then climbed into the driver's seat of the Impala, leaving them alone to say their good-byes.

"Sam, what's going on? Are you leaving?" She asked.

"Look, I'm really sorry..." Sam's responded, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "When my Dad gets a job, he can be a real bastard in wanting to get to it quickly."

"Must be some kind of major vacuum cleaner salesman emergency to come and drag you out of here in the middle of the night." She pointed out the strangeness of it all. She was a smart girl and he knew she thought the whole 'my dad's a door-to-door salesman' thing was a little hinky given his father's unshaved and menacing appearance, but he could never tell her the truth.

"All I can say is...it's complicated." Sam let his head drop, knowing he would have to leave now. "Can we give you a ride back home?"

"No. It's okay, Sam. I'll just hang out here with my friend Stacy, she came stag with some other girls."

"You sure?"

"Yeah..." She grabbed Sam's hand. "Will you be back?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know."

"But we graduate next week."

"I know...I'll try to get my dad to bring us back when the job is done, but I have a feeling that he's not gonna want to."

Rachel nodded, showing her disappointment and shrugging off his jacket, handing it back to him.. "Well then...If this is good-bye..."

Sam didn't let her finish, but pulled her into a tight embrace. "Thanks Rachel...for everything." He then kissed her full on the lips which ended quickly by the sound of the truck horn blaring at them, prompting Sam to let her go and head for the car.

Before he could leave, Rachel pulled him back. "You know Sam...You are an adult now...you don't always have to live in your Dad's shadow, so I expect to hear that you're killing the competition when you get to Stanford."

Sam still had his doubts that his father would even let him go to college, but he nodded his head anyway before opening the car door and sliding inside.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Sam looked back to see Rachel waving him good-bye. He waved back sadly before she was in the rearview mirror then turned back to face the road. Never would he see her again and never would he witness her eyes turn to an inky black as she watched them leave.

_**Now**_

His hand quaked and his whole body vibrated, the adrenaline from the attack still pumping furiously through his veins. Trying to find some semblance of calm was next to impossible and the pain, though surprisingly less than he would have figured seeing as how his leg reminded him of a shredded piece of meat, was terrible. With bone and muscle peering through torn flesh and blood pooling under his red, saturated jeans, he knew he was in big trouble.

Despite the shock at the sight, mostly he was angry at the whole situation he was in now. He shouldn't be here. He should be with his prom date...perhaps even losing his virginity finally.

He shouldn't be in this mess.

He should be graduating from high school with his friends

He should be planning for college and deciding which courses to take.

He shouldn't have to think about how he was going to survive...

Even though he was sorely pissed, he knew Dean and Dad were going to be even more so...that is if he could find them or they him.

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thanks you to everyone that has commented, faved or alerted this story. I hope you enjoy this next chapter and let me know what you think of it. :D**_

**Chapter 2**

_**23 Hours earlier...**_

"So, how long is this silent thing gonna go on?" Dean asked in irritation. Usually he was trying to get Sam to shut up, but this whole cold shoulder, 'I'm not talking to you' bullshit was getting on his nerves.

Sam didn't answer, just kept his head turned, looking out the window.

"Look, I'm sorry about the whole prom thing, but I don't really get what the big deal is here. You can't seriously enjoy all that dancing and dressing up crap, can you?"

Silence again.

Dean sighed. "Then again, knowing you...you probably do like it, but wish you could have worn a gown instead of a suit."

This time it was Sam's turn to sigh and Dean could almost hear his eyes rolling. "Shut up, Dean." At least that got some kind of response from him, he thought.

"Get over it, Sam. I never went my prom and I somehow managed to survive."

"That's because you dropped out before you could even go to one." Sam mumbled back.

"Well, even if I hadn't, I still wouldn't have gone. It's all pretty stupid if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you." Sam finally lifted his head from the window. "Besides, you wouldn't get it."

"Get what? Why you would want to go to such a sissy event?"

"Ya know...maybe I wanted to go because for once...just once...I wanted to feel normal and do the things other guys my age do." Sam came back with vehemence.

"Guys your age like to go to formals and slow dance?"

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"Then what?..." Dean suddenly had a realization and a pretty girl in a pink dress popped into his head and he grinned. "Oh...I get it. You were hoping for a little 'bow chicka bow wow' with that Raquelle girl."

"Rachel, Dean. Her name is Rachel." Sam shot back, his face reddening and Dean knew he had hit the nail on the head.

"Whatever, dude. At least I see why you're such a whiny bitch now...sorry, man, didn't mean to cock block ya."

Sam grumbled something about Dean being an ass before abruptly changing the subject. "Where are we going anyway? And what's the hurry?"

"Montana. Caleb called dad, said he has a whole pack of werewolves he's tracked down to a cabin out in the mountains and he needs our help taking them out before the full moon, that's why we needed to leave right away."

Dean turned to his brother and saw the muscles in his jaw clench. "Werewolves...joy." Sam sarcastically uttered. "Can't think of anything better I'd rather be doing."

"Cheer up, Bro." Dean elbowed him, looking back at the road that stretched before them. He was pumped to get this hunt on and couldn't understand why Sam never took as much pride in ridding the world of nasties like these as he did. "We get to end these things before they hurt anyone else. Campers and hikers in those mountains will thank us for not letting them become dinner, that is if they really knew what was out there."

"I guess." Sam mumbled without any heart in it then went back to leaning his head against the window and watching the endless miles of scenery fly by.

_**Now**_

Sam wasn't sure what to do first.

An inner voice echoed through his ears. _Call Dean, stupid._

Even the simplest movement to retrieve his cell phone from his back pocket was met with indescribable pain. Fire blasted from his wounded leg, shooting through nerves like a hot poker stabbing tender flesh. Crying out in agony, he pushed through it even when his stomach clenched intent on bringing up what little he had eaten that day and spots danced in front of his eyes like fireflies blocking his vision.

Finally, his fingers found the hard casing of the phone wedged in his pocket and he was able to get a firm enough grip on it to pull it out.

Sagging in relief to have his only connection to his brother in hand, Sam panted, trying desperately to pull in enough air to where he could speak again. He flipped the phone open with fumbling fingers that shook so intensely that even the easy act of dialing had become a struggle.

He was halfway though punching in Dean's number when he finally noticed the service icon in the corner of the screen held no bars.

"No no no no." He moved the phone up and scanned around, praying for just one bar to appear, but none never did. Defeated, his snapped the damned thing shut and found himself back at square one again.

He resorted to option two: screaming at the top of his lungs.

"DEAN!" He shouted as loudly as his voice would allow. "DAD!"

He listened carefully after shouting until his voice gave out for any kind of response, but heard nothing.

Now what to do?

He could stay put and hope that Dad and Dean came looking for him, but this was a big forest and the chances of them just happening to stumble upon him were less than remote. He could have fired his gun into the air to draw some attention to his location, but all of his bullets were spent and he could only hope that the others had heard the shots he had fired only minutes ago, but even then, there was a good chance that he was well out of hearing range.

Out of options and starting to shiver wildly thanks to the cold rain and what was most assuredly shock, Sam knew he would have to be the one to get himself out of the forest and back to Dean and Dad.

First things first though, he would have to do is stanch the blood flowing from the injury even if it was going to hurt like a sonofabitch. Cursing himself for leaving his pack with the first-aid supplies behind, he had to take a moment to get his mind working and fight the panic that was threatening to take over his senses. _Think_ he told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. _Think_.

Sufficiently calmer after taking in a few deep breaths, Sam had come up with a plan. Though it was far from a good plan by any stretch of the imagination, it was the best he could come up with giving his trouble thinking straight.

Shoring up as much determination as he could, Sam dared to take a look again at his leg. The renewed sight of his torn flesh and blood came at him with a strange sort of detachment. The leg felt like it didn't belong to him at all, as if it was merely an alien attachment connected to his body that he needed to fix.

Quaking with fear, knowing that his next move wasn't going to be easy, Sam gritted his teeth and set to work. Stripping off his coat, he took the flannel shirt he had on underneath and pulled it off as well until he was down to just a thin t-shirt.

Teeth chattering from the shock of the cold, biting air, Sam quickly put his coat back on then approached the injury hesitantly. Hanging from the side of the gaping hole, a thick strip of torn skin lay flapped open to expose muscle and bone to the open air. Shaking all over, he fought for control over his hands as he guiding them towards his leg. He stopped just before touching anything, anticipating that once he did, he'd be in a world of pain that he had never experienced before.

_Just like stripping off a band-aid_, he assured himself, _do it quickly. _Panting, Sam urged himself forward, moving as fast as his quivering hands would allow, grabbing the hanging, flap of flesh and folding it back over the gaping hole in his leg. He hadn't been wrong in his estimation of the pain, screaming out loud as he performed his own first-aid. Tears leaked involuntarily from his eyes and through blurry, wavering vision, he just wanted it all to stop, to pass out already, but he pushed through it, grunting, groaning and crying until he had the flannel shirt wrapped tightly around his injury, holding the skin flap in place and hopefully controlling the bleeding.

After tying the shirt off to secure it in place, he fell backwards and hit the ground, arching his back and writhing against the stabbing pain that traveled up his leg, into his hips and coursed through his whole body.

Darkness descended on him too quickly for him to fight it, but the promise of leaving the pain behind if only for a few moments was enough to allow it to swallow him whole.

_**12 hours earlier**_

The Montana sky was already bright with the morning sun when John pulled into the parking lot of the motel Caleb had called him from and parked his truck. Moments later Dean took up the space next to his with the car and killed the engine.

John was the first one out, taking a moment to stretch out the kinks in his muscles. He remembered it being so much easier to drive all night long twenty years ago and he envied the way Dean hopped out of the car still looking somewhat fresh and ready to fight while he knew he would need about a gallon of coffee to keep him alert. Sam on the other hand already had an irritated air about him, which wasn't surprising giving the abruptness of their departure last night, but it still raised John's ire.

Appraising his son's, John was unable to not draw comparisons between the two. While Dean had always been a bundle of energy, eager to learn everything he could teach him about hunting and even as a child and teen he had been easy-going even in the direst of situation, Sam had been almost the complete opposite. He could tell from all of the training and exercises he put the boys through, that his youngest's heart just wasn't into any of it, which frustrated John to no end.

Sure, Sam was smart, scary smart in fact, but how could he keep his son from getting hurt if he spent more time studying than learning the hunting trade and how to protect himself?

He did his best to encourage the kid to train harder, to push himself to his limits, but often times when that failed, John found himself resorting to anger and shouting in his desperate attempt to get Sam to apply himself more to the job.

That seemed to work for the most part up until Sam turned about fourteen and he started to rebel against his authority. Talking back, questioning orders, rolling his eyes; all things Sam knew triggered John's anger, he seemed to do on a regular basis. It was something John had hoped he would eventually outgrow, but the problems between the two of them only seemed to be escalating as of late.

And today it looked like things hadn't changed much given the sour face Sam was wearing. He didn't offer any apologies for taking Sam away from his date, the boy was eighteen now and needed to know that there were more important things than hooking up with girls when there were things out there killing people.

He blamed some of Sam's resistance to his orders on his own laxness and decision to take an extended time-off after John broke his hand, wrist and arm on a hunt several weeks ago. Unable to squeeze a trigger made the job next to impossible, so setting up house in a rented cabin in that Podunk Nebraska town and letting Sam finish out the school-year there had been more of a necessity than anything else.

But, now that he was healed and Sam had finished his classes, he didn't see the point in sticking around, besides he was chomping at the bit to get back into the game, glad that Caleb had called for his help. Hopefully this job might be just what was needed to get Sam back on track as well and a good opportunity for John to nip some of Sam's attitude in the bud.

John approached his sons, watching Sam, who refused to meet his eye. "Alright you two, get your stuff. Caleb should be inside." No sooner had John stated that when the motel door opened and a grinning Caleb strode out of the room.

"John!" He greeted, walking up to the veteran hunter and shaking his hand. "Thought I heard that beast of a truck pull up."

"Caleb." John returned the greeting, clasping his shoulder briefly. "It's been a while."

"Too long. Glad you could get out here so quickly."

"It was no problem." John assured him. Caleb turned from John and looked over at Sam and Dean.

"Dean. Good to see ya, kid" Dean shook Caleb's hand with a big grin flashing across his face.

"You too, Caleb."

Caleb's attention went to Sam next. "Sam? Do you ever stop growing, boy? I swear you must be feeding this kid miracle-Gro or something, John. How've you been?"

Despite, his earlier dour expression, Sam's face brightened. "Not bad. You?"

"Still alive, which is a miracle in and of itself most days."

John was ready for the reunion to be over with already so they could get down to business. "Why don't we all go inside now and you can tell us more about this case of yours, Caleb."

Caleb nodded then gestured to the door. "Absolutely, c'mon in guys."

All three Winchester's followed Caleb into the room and shut the door behind them. Caleb offered them coffee, which John readily took as did Dean while Sam politely refused.

"Well...I'm really glad y'all could come 'cuz I could use all the manpower I can get on this one." Caleb walked over to a round table covered with maps and papers, John followed and looked over his shoulder while the younger man pulled out a map marked with red notes.

"Last month a body was found on one of the trails here" He pointed to a circle on the map. "...heart was missing. A couple days after that there was another, here. Police are claiming them both to be victims of a wild animal attack, most likely timber wolves."

"So you think its definitely a werewolf?" Sam asked.

"More than that. I did some tracking from the spots where the bodies were found and there was definitely more than one creature. I kept following the tracks they left behind and found myself at a remote cabin deep in the forest. I staked it out for a couple of days and saw three guys living there. Now, if my hunch is right, then these guys make up a pack and hunt as a team."

"I didn't think werewolves hunted in packs." Dean spoke up.

"Most of them are solitary." John agreed. "But, it's not unknown for some of them to run together and form clans."

"Yep...That's what I think we got here and come the full moon tonight, they should be ready for their transformation, so we got to get to them before they can attack any one else."

John nodded, feeling a tingle of anticipation building inside of him. "Guess we better come up with a plan fast then."

_**Now**_

The soft and continual patter of water hitting his face pulled Sam away from the blissful peace that unconsciousness had brought him and he reluctantly pulled his heavy eyelids open to stare up at the forest canopy. Sam wasn't sure how long he had been out, but seeing that the sky was still just as dark and heavy with rain as it had been before he passed out, told him that it hadn't been for very long. He had hoped that it all had just been some sort of terrible dream, that when he opened his eyes he would find himself in a nice, warm bed with Dean snoring away across the room, but the stark reality of it all hit home when a chill coursed through his body and caused his teeth to chatter wildly and his limbs to vibrate with shivering quakes.

Staying put was no longer an option, he would surely freeze and die of shock if he did. He had to move, had to keep his blood pumping and his temperature up if he was going to live.

A groan escaped from deep within his throat when he forced himself up into a sitting position. The agony in his leg had ebbed somewhat thanks to the tight makeshift bandage he had placed on it, but it still throbbed and pulsated with an an unabated pain that stabbed him whenever he made any sort of movement.

Sam knew that walking on the leg was going to be impossible without something to act as a crutch. Scanning the area, he was grateful for once that he was in a forest and there was no shortage of downed limbs and sticks that were long enough and strong enough to support him. He spotted one in particular that lay not too far from him, but in order to reach it, he had to scoot over several feet on his behind, jarring his leg in the process, but he pushed through the pain, tightly grinding his teeth until he could grasp it.

He tested the branch, finding it strong and almost as long as he was tall. He quickly snapped off the protruding twigs until he had it suitable for hobbling with then braced himself for his next challenge.

Getting onto his feet was far harder and more painful than he had hoped, but using the branch to pull himself up onto his good leg was accomplished in one swift movement despite the pounding of his heart in his chest and the dizzy spell that followed the change in position.

Tears of pain and exhaustion quickly gave way to stubborn anger. He was not going to die out here, not in this crappy forest and not because he wasn't strong enough or skilled enough like his father thought he was. With those thoughts fueling him, he put his body weight into the stick, careful to make sure his injured leg never touched the ground then took his first, determined step forward.

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Just as a warning, there's some swearing in this chapter and I hope that doesn't offend anyone. _****_I also want to thank everyone for reading and for all of your kind comments. Reviews are a fan fic writer's only compensation and I truly appreciate each one._**

**Chapter 3**

**_6_**_** hours ago**_

Sam was miserable.

The plan to hike to the cabin, stake it out until the moon rose then storm in with silver-tipped bullets spraying once they had confirmed the men inside were indeed werewolves sounded easy enough, but when was anything in their lives easy? And just because it was a good plan and stood an excellent chance of being successful didn't mean that Sam had to like it.

Especially the hiking part.

More than six miles of slogging through wilderness, tripping over tree branches and climbing steep hills had already gone by leaving Sam feeling every step of it.

Okay...maybe he had to admit that he had slacked off some from his father's training regime the last few weeks, but the push to get all A's for his final exams and his studies for the SAT's had taken priority in Sam's eyes. So, instead of running the 10K his father wanted him to do everyday after school, he ran instead to the local library and got in as much extra study time as he could before he was expected back. Sam credited the additional hour a day there as what had helped him score so well on the SAT that Stanford had offered him a full ride, but in hind sight, he probably could have used the cardio as he was starting to feel fatigue set in.

"C'mon, Sam. Pick it up." Dad called out, walking beside Caleb and looking behind him, seeing Sam lag behind somewhat.

Grumbling internally, Sam caught up to Dean who marched on contentedly not far behind the older two hunters.

"What's the matter, Sammy..." Dean grinned at him slyly. "This little stroll in the woods kicking your butt?"

"No." Sam was quick to defend himself.

"Could have fooled me." His brother shrugged, but didn't push any further, instead he pulled his pack off of his shoulders and brought it around to his front, unzipping a pocket and pulling out a wedge shaped, plastic container.

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"What does it look like?" Dean came back while removing the cellophane that sealed in two halves of a ham sandwich taking one out.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Vending machine at the motel had 'em. Snagged one before we left." Dean popped a pointy end of the sandwich in his mouth, taking a huge bite and chewing happily.

"Who knows how long it was in that machine." Sam looked on disgusted. "You ever hear of salmonella, Dean? You're just tempting fate eating that thing."

"ah wike oo ive on de edge." Came a garbled retort from Dean's stuffed mouth.

"Ewww...that's just gross." Sam screwed up his face seeing the revolting sight.

Dean swallowed. "At least I'm not hungry anymore. Want some?" He offered the uneaten portion of the sandwich half to his brother.

Sam was in fact hungry himself, but definitely not for that. He instead reached into the side pocket of his own backpack and pulled out a Powerbar, waggling it in front of his brother. "I brought my own stuff to eat and it won't give me food poisoning." Sam pointed out before he unwrapped it, took a bite and chewed hard on the tough, sticky and somewhat odd tasting chocolate energy bar.

"You call that food?" Dean made the same disgusted face Sam had used earlier. "I think I'd rather take my chances with the sandwich."

Sam would have come back with something like 'shut up, jerk' if his jaw wasn't still working on what he would only admit to himself was something chewier than an over-cooked piece of steak.

"Alright you two..." their father turned around again while continuing his march forward. "That's enough yapping, we still got another mile to go and daylight's running out fast, so let's move." He ordered.

"Yessir." Dean snapped back into full-on hunter mode while Sam kept his annoyance at being treated like a marine corps grunt at bay and trudged on, matching his sibling's increased speed.

It was then that the first fat drops of rain began to fall on the hiking hunters. Sam grumbled at the change in weather, thinking that things couldn't get much worse.

_**Now**_

Pouring rain soaked his hair and matted it to his forehead while a stiff, bitter wind kicked up and cut through his coat and clothing, biting into his exposed skin. The cold was all encompassing, but the exhausting work of leaning into his walking stick then swinging his good leg out to take step after agonizing step kept a good deal of the shivering down to a minimum and was actually making him sweat a little.

It was not like he was really focusing on the weather anyway, his only thoughts centered on moving forward, gritting through the pain and making his way back to where he had last seen the others.

He lost track of how far he had already come, but disappointingly he knew it wasn't far. At first, he had made good progress hobbling across the terrain, but as the ground rose and the hills started to become steeper and steeper, the fight against the fatigue, nausea and dizziness that battered him was almost insurmountable.

On top of that, his arms were beginning to ache from practically pole-vaulting each step, but what was worse was the cramping building up in legs. For every couple of feet he managed to cover, he had to rest, panting as he leaned into the stick.

Sam felt the stirrings of despair take root in his gut. He still had so far to go, not much energy left and he wasn't even certain he was heading back the same direction he had come from. Too tired to move forward without another break, Sam spied a downed tree trunk and gingerly lowered himself to sit on it, carefully stretching out his injured leg.

Wearily, he sighed, exhaustion leaking out of every pore in his body as he gave into the rest. Looking out ahead to the direction he had been heading and seeing the steep incline that loomed before him, he dreaded the thought of carrying on and torturing his body any further. What was the point anyway? He was never gonna make it; not like this, not at this pace. He was so beyond screwed that giving up was starting to look like a viable and attractive option.

_**3 hours earlier**_

Caleb hunkered down among the bushes and undergrowth of the forest then pointed. "There..." He whispered to John who knelt down beside of him. "That's it."

John peered out through the thick foliage, making out the lines of the cabin between the dense leaves. He reached for his pack and opened it to pull out a pair of binoculars, putting them to his eyes and getting a closer view of the small, run-down structure. He was aware of Sam and Dean crouching down behind him, but focused on the building.

The unshaded windows provided an inside view of the cabin and John did not see any movement for several minutes, but finally the tall figures of two men came around the opposite side of the cabin carrying firewood and were met by another man who opened the front door for them. So far, nothing would suggest that the three men were werewolves, but dusk was only just beginning and the moon hadn't risen yet. They would have to wait for their confirmation before taking action.

If there was only one thing John was patient for, it was a stake out and the promise of doing in supernatural creatures that threatened the lives and safety of innocent people; people that didn't deserve to die in such terrible ways. People like his wife.

Even now, almost eighteen years after her death, it still stung to think about her and the vision of seeing her on the ceiling of Sammy's nursery just before fire engulfed her and the room.

While it was too late for him to prevent tragedy from his striking his own family, he could do something to keep it from ruining other people's lives and he would do just about anything to make sure no one else went through the same pain and heartache as he experienced and still felt everyday.

Setting down the binoculars for now, John turned back to Caleb and his boys, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. "Alright...we only got a little bit of time left before the moon is at it's fullest. Once we got some clear sign that these guys are what we think they are then, Dean...you and Caleb cover the front door...Sam and I'll take the back in case some of them try to escape."

Dean and Caleb nodded, accepting John's greater experience and authority. Sam scowled slightly and John knew that the boy objected to being assigned to go in with him, but in John's mind that was just tough. Sam might think he was a grown man now, but John hadn't been blind to him dragging his heels on the hike up there and his lack of focus and enthusiasm towards the task at hand could be dangerous. There wasn't any way he was going to let the kid out of his sight when he was being pissy like this and it could get him either hurt or killed.

The four hunters settled in to watch the cabin closely while the sun set beyond the mountains, casting them into darkness. The clouds in the sky dropping continual rain on them blocked any visuals of the moon, so instead John kept his binoculars trained on the cabin for any signs of change. It felt like forever before he finally saw some movement through the window and heard animalistic noises and howling cries coming from within, filling the night air.

That was enough confirmation for John to know that they indeed had a pack of werewolves on their hands and he knew it was time act before they escaped from the cabin and ran free into the wilderness.

He made eye contact with Dean and Caleb, signaling for them to move in. They both nodded, taking the safety off of their weapons and springing into action. Glancing sideways at Sam, his youngest looked on wide-eyed at the cabin where the horrible, terrifying noises emanated from, a glint of fear crossing his features. Sam had only been on one other werewolf hunt before and that time it had only been one creature, but a whole pack of those damned things making all of that racket could set any hunter's hair sticking up on the back of their neck. John nudged him somewhat impatiently, pushing him into action. Sam had to face the fear and push through it if he was ever going to become as effective a hunter as Dean and himself.

Sam swallowed and to John's satisfaction, his jaw locked in determination before he sprung forward as well. Keeping pace with Sam's long legs, John ran for the rear of the cabin with his son just in time to hear the first gunshots ring out from the front.

There was a great and terrible screaming and howling as Sam took cover by a wood pile and John took up position behind a tree. He trained his rifle on the cabin and glanced over at Sam who was unable to hide his nervousness, but he too kept his Colt .45 aimed at the door with a steady hand.

Suddenly, the exit to the cabin burst open, revealing a snarling beast. It appeared uninjured and must have run for the door as soon as the shooting began. John was first to fire, but the damned thing whirled just in time to dodge the bullet. It was far faster than any werewolf John had encountered before and before he could aim and get off another round it was heading straight for Sam.

"Shoot him now!" John shouted to Sam, but when his finger pulled on the trigger, nothing happened; his gun was jammed. Panicked now that the creature was almost upon him, Sam slapped his weapon, but couldn't clear out the stuck round, instead he rolled away from the log pile and the reach of the creature just in time for it smash the wood and send it crashing down. The momentary distraction gave John the opportunity to fire off another round and hit the beast in the back of the head, sending blood and brains spraying.

Another figured appeared through the door out of the corner of his eye and John whirled to aim, but quickly lowered his rifle seeing that it was Caleb followed by Dean close at his heels.

"We're clear in here." He called out then looked down at the mess on the ground. "Well, looks like we got 'em all." Seeing the remains of the one that had gotten away from him and Dean.

Dean hurried over to Sam, who sat on the ground panting. "You okay, Sammy?" he asked his little brother, offering him a hand up. Sam just nodded and took Dean's hand, coming back to his feet.

John was quick to join them. Sam had some explaining to do. Guns that were well-maintained didn't just jam on their own.

"What the hell happened to your weapon, Sam?" He nearly shouted, making his anger known.

Sam stammered. "Uh...I don't know, it just jammed."

"Let me see that thing." John ordered. Sam at least had the good sense to do as he was told and handed the pistol over. John grabbed it and easily cleared it, letting the unfired round in the chamber drop to the ground. He then released the magazine and pulled the slide down to inspect the internal mechanisms of the pistol. What he saw immediately answered how the gun jammed, but also made him very angry.

"When's the last time you actually cleaned this damned thing, Sam?" He asked bitterly, this was inexcusable.

"Uh...well..."

"Yeah." John cut him off, his eyes blazing. "That's what I thought. This weapon is dirty as hell. Why didn't you clean it?"

"After our last practice I was going to, I swear, but I had a ton of homework and final exams...I guess I just forgot."

"You just forgot? Good God, Sam!" John felt his blood pressure rise. "What is my number one rule about weapons and the first fuckin' thing I taught you? You always, always clean the damn thing after you fire it or shit like this happens. If I hadn't been here to take that Goddamned werewolf out, what do you think would have happened?"

Sam's mouth moved to defend himself, but John wasn't about to back off on this. "You'd be dead right now and all because you had better things to do. Thank God you're finished with school because otherwise, I'd be pulling your ass out. Despite what you think, there are more important things than getting good grades and going to frickin' proms. "

Looking over at Dean, Sam silently pleaded for his big brother's help. "Don't you look to him to get you out of this. You look at me when I'm speaking to you. Now, you are going to get you e-tool and dig a fire pit for the bodies and when you're finished with that you're gonna clean this weapon and all of the others until they sparkle. Come tomorrow we're going back to square one with your training until you show me that you're responsible and in shape enough for the job. I was going to take you back to Nebraska for your graduation, but you can just forget about that now. You're gonna square your shit away and get with the act, Sam because I'm not going to stand for anymore of this laziness, ya hear me?." John thrust the weapon back into Sam's hand forcefully.

Sam's face suddenly went from stunned to angry and he glared back at John, his eyes glinting with fury. "You think I'm lazy, Dad? You have no idea how hard I've been working to make good grades all while trying to keep up with your damn training, because that's all you care about; turning us into the perfect warriors for your insane crusade. Do ever stop to think about what I want to do with my life, that I'm an adult now and have a choice whether or not I want to keep doing this crap forever? What if I want to do something else? What if I want to get an education and someday have a family of my own, did you ever think of that? I know you want to catch the thing that killed mom, but do you seriously think she would want you to drag Dean and I all across the country and never have any dreams or lives of our own just so you can have some twisted form of vengeance?"

John felt something snap inside and all he saw was red.

He had never raised a hand to his sons in anger before, but this was too much for him to control any longer. How dare he disrespect the memory of his mother.

"Dad!" Dean called out, seeming to sense that John had been pushed one step too far and to keep him from doing something he might regret. But it was already too late. Unconsciously his hand balled into a fist and before he could stop himself, it went flying, connecting square with Sam's jaw.

Pain flared through his hand once the connection was made, but that wasn't what hurt the most. Seeing his son...the one his wife had died for, crumple to the ground by his own hand was a blow he wasn't sure either one of them might recover from.

Regret, remorse and guilt flooded over him. How had he gone from being scared out of his mind when that werewolf went after Sam to being so angry with the boy that he laid him out on the ground?

Time seemed to slow down. He felt Caleb's hands grab him, separating him from Sam, heard Dean shout then go to his brother, tasted bile crawling it way up to his mouth and smelled the acrid scent of gun powder linger in the cool, rainy air. But the only sense that truly registered was the sight of his youngest child looking up at him with pain-filled, angry eyes before spitting blood out of his mouth and batting Dean away to stand on his own. Sam didn't say anything; he didn't need to, his expression said more than words ever could and the next thing he knew, his boy was walking away.

Finally, John broke through the shock he given himself and the others caused by his actions and found his voice again. "Sam..." He yelled to his son out pleadingly, hoping to draw him back so they could find some way to fix this, but Sam refused to turn around.

"Let him go, John." Caleb ordered, his voice demanding and firm. "Let him walk it off. He'll be back."

Reluctantly, John swallowed hard and nodded, his voice betraying the mixed flood of emotions sweeping over him."I'm gonna go clear my head."

John said no more then headed for the woods, leaving a stunned and torn Dean behind to stand helplessly by and watch while his family scattered like frightened rabbits in opposite directions.

_**Now**_

_So, you're just gonna give up? Is that it? Is this really the best you can do? _He heard his father's angry and disappointed voice echoing in his head._ You're a winchester, Sammy whether you want to be or not and Winchesters don't give up._

_I'm a human being, Dad. _Sam internally replied, insenced by his imagination. _And Human beings have limits._

_Bullshit! _His father's voice crescendoed._ Now, you get your damned ass off of that log and start marching up that hill!_

_I can't. _Sam fought back. _It hurts too much... I'm too tired._

_Wrong answer, boy or are you truly as lazy and careless as I think you are?_

_I'm not lazy!_

_Then prove it...get moving!_

_I will! And when I find you again, I'm gonna rub it in your face. _Sam grabbed his walking stick again and pulled himself off the log, ignoring the stabs of pain that radiated up and down his leg. He stared up at the hill that loomed ahead of him with renewed determination and anger towards his father then started his trek once again.

_You're wrong about me, Dad. You always have been._

**_TBC..._**


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry, but there's some more bad language at the end of this chapter._

_A/N2: Anyway, I had someone point out that a werewolf can only be killed with a shot to the heart. I had forgotten that, so I've tried to clear up some of that mistake in this chapter. Also, many of you have been guessing as to what it is exactly that has attacked Sam...well I've left a few more clues this time, but I'm not saying what is yet...bwah ha ha ha. I Hope you enjoy this latest installment and I apologize for not getting out any replies to the reviews from the last chapter, but I truly do appreciate your input, advice and comments! :D_

**Chapter 4**

_**3 hours earlier**_

Dean's head switched back in forth between Sam and his father's retreating backs, torn between wanting to chase after them and knowing that they both needed some time to process what had just happened on their own. Besides, there was only one of him and he couldn't go after them both.

"You okay, kid?" Caleb asked after several moments of silence.

"Yeah..." Dean lied, his voice having trouble working against his tightening throat. He couldn't count the number of times Dad and Sam had gotten into a fight the last few years, but he had never seen his father lose his cool like he just had. Sam was an expert at pushing his father's buttons, but he had gone too far this time and the shock of seeing him hit his little brother stung almost as much as if he had been struck himself. But, Dean was angry at Sam too, pissed that he had made such a rookie mistake, but more upset that Sam had admitted what Dean had always feared...that he wasn't happy being a part of their family, that he wanted out of their lives.

"We better get these bodies taken care of before it starts raining too hard for a good fire." Caleb suggested.

Dean nodded, unsurprised that Sam and Dad's explosive rage towards each other had left him with a mess to clean up once again.

After digging a pit, they both headed to the body of the werewolf his father had shot. It was as dead as dead could be in Dean's eye, but that didn't stop Caleb from pulling out his pistol and shooting the damn thing through the heart anyway.

"You can never be too careful with these things. I once shot one through the head in Canada then went to move the body and the little bugger started growling at me. Nearly crapped my pants before I popped another through it's heart. Sometimes even if something looks dead, don't mean it is." Caleb explained while he grabbed the feet of the body and Dean lifted the creature up from under the shoulders. They then hauled the beast to the pit, dumping it in unceremoniously and after that, they went back into the cabin and repeated the process twice over with the other two bodies.

With ample wood from the logs stacked up by the cabin, an entire canister of rock salt and nearly a whole bottle of lighter fluid it wasn't long before they had a strong bonfire going despite the light, misty rain. Dean watched the flames, oblivious to the acrid stench of burning flesh as his thoughts wandered back and forth between Dad and Sam. Both were right and both had been wrong, but asking him to choose sides wasn't going to happen. However, either way he knew he would have to be the one to patch up this crap; he always was.

Sandwiched between his two bull-headed family members and their many battles, he was tired of playing peacemaker and mediator, but what else could he do? The thought that there might be the possibility of Sam leaving for greener pastures was almost too unbearable and he had to find some way to keep that from happening. Dean didn't have much, but one thing he did have was his family and he wasn't about to let it fall apart without a fight.

He was unaware of how much time had really passed while he gazed into the fire until out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shadow approach their spot.

Dean turned with a start then sighed in relief to see his father walking up and joining them by the fire. He was glad to see he was composed and in control once again, yet at the same time he found it too difficult to meet his eyes, so never noticed that his father hadn't tried to look at him either. It was like a shared shame that neither of them wanted to or could yet confront.

"John?" Caleb started as a way of half greeting him and half asking him if he was alright.

"I'm fine." John replied grimly, rubbing his tired face. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Caleb. I...uh...don't know how I lost control like that."

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to, but it's none of my business. You guys got things you need to work out by yourselves so, I guess I 'll just go inside the cabin and clean up. We might as well stay the night here and hike back in the morning when the weather's better."

John nodded in agreement before Caleb walked off and headed for the cabin, leaving Dean to stand there uncomfortably next to his father.

They were quiet for several minutes, neither of them really caring much when the rain powered up from a miserable drizzle to a regular shower.

"Sam's not back yet?" John finally broke the silence.

"No...how long has it been anyway?" Dean asked, realizing suddenly that he hadn't really kept up with the time and now seeing that the bodies in the pit were nearly cinders, he got a terrible uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Haven't really been keeping track." John murmured softly. "But if he's not back soon, we'll go looking for him. He probably just needs a little more time." Dean finally made the effort to take a look at his father. He appeared on the outside to be calm and collected, but the little lines of stress around his eyes and the way he stared anxiously in the direction he had last seen Sam sent a quiver up Dean's spine.

fighting the urge to take off and hunt down his brother right then, Dean felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Sammy shouldn't have been out by himself this long, he should have gone after him right away after the fight, but he had been too torn by his conflicting emotions to do so back then. Hopefully, he hadn't gone far and Sam had had enough time to find a little head space by now, but knowing his kid brother and the way he could brood without paying much attention to anything else made Dean feel a little queasy with guilt and uneasiness.

That's when both John and Dean's ears picked up a faint sound emanating across the forest and from the general direction Sam had last been seen heading. It was almost too distant to hear but what it was, was unmistakable to the two seasoned hunters and sent them both scrambling instinctively for their weapons: it was gunfire.

OOOOOOO

At the same time Dean was just starting to worry that his little brother hadn't returned yet, Sam was sitting on a fallen log, cleaning the gun that had started the argument that had led him into the woods in the first place with the hem of his t-shirt.

Although he was still hurt and angry about his father taking a swing at him, Sam had to admit that he wasn't entirely innocent in all of this, that his words had pushed his father over the edge. It was practically Winchester family taboo to even so much as mention his mother and he had gone and rubbed her death in his father's face.

He should have known better, but Sam had just been so angry at the time about his father's drive to mold him into a hunter like him and the realization that he'd never happily nor willingly allow him to go to college that the words had come flying out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Sure, that didn't excuse his father for reacting with physical violence, but Sam felt his own measure of guilt for the fight. He hadn't maintained his weapon like he should have and his father had been right in being pissed about that. So here he sat, trying to fix what he could of the situation before he headed back.

At first Sam had been so stunned and hurt by his father's burst of outrage that he had wandered into the woods without even thinking about which direction to take, he just wanted to get away. He had even been tempted to just leave for good, to head out of the forest entirely and go back to civilization until he made it all the way to California, never go back again to his family. But that was just a fantasy, one he knew he couldn't fulfill, at least not yet. He couldn't leave Dean behind without an explanation...he owed him too much to just ditch him like that and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt his brother. Dean had always been there for him, the least he could do was tell him about Stanford. His dad may never understand his desire to go to college and have a life of his own, but Dean might...maybe. But one thing was for certain in his mind now. He was going to college whether his family wanted him to or not.

Though his jaw still ached from his Dad's knuckles slamming into his face, he knew he had to go back at some point. Reassembling his gun and slapping in the extra clip had had stored in his pocket, Sam looked back at the direction he had come from. He wasn't sure how far out he had come from the cabin, but if he was to make it back before Dean got pissed about him being gone so long and came looking for him, then he figured he better get moving. Especially since it was just starting to rain steadily and he was in no mood to be soaked completely and add to his misery.

Standing up and, he thought about the inevitable and uncomfortable situation that awaited him when he saw his father again. He had no idea what he would say. Would his Dad even be sorry for hitting him?

Most likely not, he figured spitefully. He couldn't recall his father apologizing for anything before and that had the once cooled embers of anger sparking again inside of him. Of course his father wouldn't say he was sorry...who was he kidding? Just because he hit him, didn't mean the man would ever change. Asking for that was like asking for the sun to quit rising in the morning, time to stop marching on or Dean to give up sex...it just wasn't gonna happen.

Sam paid no attention to where his feet were taking him, he was too distracted by his own thoughts and feelings to do much more than stare at the ground as he walked on. He noticed that one of his bootlaces had become untied, so grumbling, he crouched down, set his gun down and fixed it. Unknown to Sam, in the shadows a hunter caught sight of him and in the position he was in, he appeared to be the perfect, vulnerable prey.

Sam had just finished fixing his lace and picked up his gun again when the hunter pounced and caught him unaware.

_**Now**_

Damned mountains, Sam thought angrily, why did they have so many damned hills that were so damned high?

Two steps into the hill he needed to summit and he knew he would not be getting very far up it with just one good leg. His only option for climbing it was to turn around, sit on his ass and haul himself backwards up it, using his one functioning leg and hands to push and slide his butt upwards.

His injured limb throbbed and sent stabbing pain signals through his nerves as it dragged across the wet ground, so taking a moment to breathe through the exhaustion and the sheer physical agony his ascent up the hill brought him, Sam dug the heel of his boot of his uninjured leg into the soft ground to brace himself.

Glancing behind, he looked up the hill to see that he didn't have much farther to go before he was at the top, giving him some hope that he just might make it.

Gritting his teeth, bracing for the inevitable grief continuing on would harbor, Sam dug his heel deeper into the earth and pushed. Halfway into scooting his backside up, the ground beneath his foot suddenly shifted while loose leaves and twigs gave way under his weight.

Losing what little grip his foot had left to the sliding ground, he fought to find a new foothold for his heel, desperately hoping to stop his slide towards the bottom of the hill, but the land refused to allow it, breaking apart under him.

Gravity took over from there and he was soon sliding downward, unable to stop his descent no matter how hard he scrabbled for some kind of purchase. Before long his speed increased as well and all control was lost. Tumbling and rolling, there was no way he could end the assault as twigs and branches snapped at his face, arms and most painfully of all his already shredded leg.

If only there had been some sort of relief when his body finally came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the hill, but alas, his entire body was engulfed in flaming, stabbing, overwhelming and unending agony. He screamed out loud, hot tears rolling down his face unbridled as he rolled onto his back.

The blurry vision of the hill he had tried and failed to conquer loomed above and taunted him, as waves of hopelessness crashed over him.

Suddenly, the pain of his tumble wasn't as all-consuming as his anger at the whole damned situation. He slammed his hand hard into the ground and lifted his head to the sky in defiance to whatever God or higher power seemed to have it out for him and opened his mouth to scream out his frustration at the top of his lungs.

"FUUUUUUCKKKKKING SHIIIIIIT!"

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks again to all of you wonderful reviewers out there, hugs to you all!. Hope you like this next chapter:D

**Chapter 5**

_**1 Hour earlier**_

"Caleb!"

He was just reaching for a bucket with which to start cleaning up the blood splattered all over the cabin when Caleb heard John shouting his name urgently. Dropping the wash rag he just found, he hurried for the back door and ran outside, finding John loading his pistol and Dean with his phone up to his ear.

"John, what is it? What's going on?" He asked as soon as he saw the looks on Dean and John's faces. Dean was just closing his phone with a desperately anxious expression when he announced to his father, "No service. I can't reach him."

"We heard gunfire...Sammy..." John explained to Caleb, then worriedly turned his head towards the woods. "He's still out there."

Caleb nodded quickly, knowing that they wouldn't want to waste time talking about or planning their next move. He pulled out a pistol from his coat's inner pocket, checking it to make certain it was loaded before catching up to John and Dean who were already making a break for the forest.

At the pace John and Dean set, it wasn't long before they were all surrounded by trees, deep inside the forest and shouting for the youngest member of their hunting party.

When no response was heard, Caleb could feel the tension building around them, emanating from the father and son as they desperately searched the woods for Sam.

Dean was charging ahead, his desire to find his brother as quickly as possible palpable, but Caleb knew that no matter how fast they moved, they'd never find the kid in the vast wilderness if they didn't keep their cool and focus.

"Dean, hold up." John called out as if he was reading Caleb's mind. "We're sticking together."

Dean came back, his face pinched with unmasked worry and for the first time ever, Caleb heard Dean question his father. "What? Don't you think we should split up? We'll be able to cover more ground that way."

"Dean, your Dad's right." Caleb assured him. "We don't know what those shots could have been about and splitting could be dangerous. What we need to do is keep our heads and find some tracks Sam might have left behind."

Dean grudgingly agreed and all three set off again with a new purpose, scanning the ground and landscape for footsteps, broken branches or anything else that might point them in Sam's direction. Caleb could see that Dean was getting frustrated by the slowness of the progress and continued to call out for his brother, but finally after nearly a half hour of searching, Caleb's trained, tracking eye caught sight of an indentation in the ground.

"There!" He pointed out to John and Dean. "Looks about the right size for Sam's boot."

He trained his flashlight on the footprint left in the soft, wet ground and followed it to another and then another, leading off in a direction that would take them down the mountain.

"That's got to be his." John agreed. Caleb looked up into the older hunter's eyes, seeing a small sign of relief pass across his features before he eyed the tracks with steely and grim determination. There wasn't going to be any stopping John nor Dean from taking off full steam ahead, so all he could do was try to keep up with the brutal pace.

Despite, the ever-strengthening rain storm assailing them at every turn, it was astonishing how quickly they moved through the underbrush, over dead trees and down the hills without losing sight of the tracks until a grim discovery made them all stop dead in their tracks.

At the bottom of a small ravine and in a slight clearing, a light colored mass lay on the ground. Obscured by the dark and still more than a hundred yards away, it was hard to distinguish it's features as the light from their flashlights couldn't reach it, but the fact that it lay still on the ground and was roughly man-sized did nothing to allay anyone's fears.

"No." Dean whispered desperately, plowing forward down the small embankment before Caleb could warn him to be careful. Sliding down the leaves that made the hill slick under his feet, He and John gave chase after the younger man, finding him at the bottom, staring at the body at his feet.

"Holy crap." Caleb sighed, getting his first good view of the corpse and breathing out a puff of relief. It wasn't Sam and there was still no sign of the boy immediately apparent but the sight of the dead animal still gave him chills. He'd never seen one of these things alive in the wilderness before and he was glad he never had. He knew all about their viciousness and though their attacks on humans were rare, they were almost always devastating. And this specimen in particular was far larger than he imagined they could be, a bite from it's jaws could be lethal and one swat with it's claws could rip a person open.

John approached the large animal and crouched beside it, inspecting the body. "It hasn't been dead long." He pointed out as he turned it over. Besides the obvious kill shot to the head that landed between the beast's eyes, there were three more bullet wounds to it's chest, caused no doubt by a large caliber weapon.

".45...just like Sam's" John muttered, a slight tremble in his voice that might have been missed by most people, but which struck a nerve with Caleb. However frightening the prospect of Sam killing this animal was, it wasn't nearly as worrisome as the bright-red blood that coated the fur around it's muzzle and stained the huge fangs inside it's open mouth. Adding to that, there was the separate puddle of blood that saturated the leaves apart from the body and gave all indications that a wild struggle and fight had occurred in this spot. His heart sinking, he was certain that even though Sam must have survived the attack initially, he certainly didn't walk away unscathed and with him still missing, he could be either severely injured or dead by now.

Dean was already wildly scanning the surrounding area with his flashlight. "Sam? Sammy!"

John too was up again, but he seemed to draw on some kind of internal reservoir of calm and instead of shouting for his youngest son as Dean was doing, he was searching the ground. Caleb followed John's flashlight as it lit up a drop of blood on the ground and next to it the impression of a left boot.

"It's a good sign at least, John." He reassured John , but when he saw the muscles in his jaw clench and his dark eyes reach his as he glared up, He quickly backed up his assessment. "He's at least moving and he couldn't have gone too far. We'll find him."

John didn't say anything, but Caleb didn't need to hear him say 'I'm worried we're already too late' to know that he was thinking it.

Dean was quick to join them when his flashlight scan of the area revealed nothing and they started following the ominous blood trail. Thankfully, it didn't look like a lot of blood, but that still didn't exclude any serious injuries. He joined in with John and Dean, calling out for Sam and listening intensely for any response. It wasn't until Dean stopped and suddenly lifted a fist in the air to get them all to halt and listen that he finally heard something.

Seeing John and Dean's jaws drop somewhat, Caleb couldn't be certain if his didn't as well. It was unmistakably Sam's voice, but he didn't think he'd ever heard such language come from the usually straight-laced boy before. It was clear he was screaming, swearing a string of curses far dirtier than any sailor's when caught in a hurricane.

_**Now**_

Just as suddenly as his anger had flared into a fire and he had gone through cursing God, the hill, the rain, his leg, and most of all that goddamned beast that had nearly ripped him to shreds, the wind went out of his sails and he fell backwards in exhaustion.

Sam was instantly betrayed by his body after that. His adrenaline spent, every inch of him rebelled against any further movement and even the mere act of sitting up on his elbows sent wracking shivers of agony coursing through him as an overwhelming floating sensation took hold and threatened to render him senseless.

Fighting the spots that danced across his vision, he took a good look at his leg, sickened to see dirt, leaves and all kinds of forest matter sticking to the re-opened and jagged wound. Bleeding profusely once again where the bandage he had made from his shirt had been torn down, His skin hung loosely by the flap. Re-doing his make-shift first aid was not something he looked forward to doing and he wasn't even convinced it would help what with all of the debris coating his exposed muscle. Deciding to let the rain wash out the wound seemed best even if every drop of water that fell on it sent electric shock-like impulses along his nerves. Once it was a little cleaner he could try fixing it, but for now, he would wait and tough it out.

The only thing was, he wasn't sure there would be any point in doing that either.

Above him, the hill had become a mountain that promised only pain and anguish should he try to go up against it again. Gone was his walking stick, making another attempt to scale it a possibility that he no longer had and the realization that he was even more utterly screwed than ever before sank in, leaving the bitter taste of defeat and hopelessness in his mouth.

Falling to his back, the sobs began in earnest as he was too weary to fight them nor did he even try. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, releasing the floodgates and giving in to his misery and the unfairness of it all. Here he was: an eighteen year old virgin and he was going to die. Why? All because of some stupid fight with his father and a hungry animal.

What had he done to piss off the universe like this?

Was it because he stood up to his father?

Was it because he wanted to do something with his life other than kill things every day?

Or maybe he was just cursed...his whole family was... and no matter how hard he to tried to escape or run-away, it would always follow.

But none of that mattered anymore anyway. He could feel himself slipping, his vision was losing focus and there wasn't much left in him to stay awake much longer. He was as good as dead and there wasn't anything he could do about it anymore.

_You're such a drama queen, Sammy...or should I say, Samantha? _Sam groaned, hearing his brother's voice float unwelcome in his head. First dad, now Dean? He wasn't in the mood for any more internal pep-talks. He just wanted to be able to sleep for a while as his body craved it more than anything else.

_Get out of my head, Dean._

_What are you gonna do? Cry about it? Oh wait...you already are._

_Shut up._

_Make me, crybaby._

_Please...leave me alone._

_No._

_Why can't you just let me die in peace?_

_Because, if you die, who will I have left to tease? Dad? Don't think that would go over very well._

_It's not like I want to die, Dean...I just can't help it, but you'll live... You'll be okay._

_Think so? 'Cuz I don't. _Dean's voice lost all of it's jocularity and Sam felt a wave of guilt crash over him.

His brother had been the only constant in Sam's life with his father gone so often on hunting trips and leaving Dean to look after him, but he had never thought about how he might be the only thing in Dean's life that he had as well.

_I'm sorry..._Sam's eyelids drooped, heavy laden. He was just so, so tired. Tired of fighting the voices in his head, tired of feeling guilty, tired of the pain and the cold.

_Sammy!_

_Not now...wanna sleep._

_Sam! Wake up, you selfish bitch. Don't you dare go to sleep!_

_G'way._

"SAMMY!" The imaginary voice of his brother sounded strangely distant now as his eyes closed and he defied Dean's order to stay awake. He wasn't real anyway...didn't matter if he blew him off. The real Dean would okay...he had to believe that.

"SAM!" Weird how Dean's voice now sounded like Dad's. "SAM!" and overlapped Dean's. "SAM!" and sounded like Caleb as well.

Sam's eyes flew open with a sudden realization. He wasn't hearing voices in his head at all and if he listened hard enough, he could hear them coming closer and closer.

"SAM! C'MON, MAN...ANSWER ME!"

"D-D-Dean!" He tried to yell past his chattering teeth, but he knew his voice wasn't any louder than the rain falling around him and he couldn't find the strength to muster another shout.

They'd never hear him.

He suddenly remembered a scene from that stupid Titanic movie Mrs. Kinney, his history teacher, made them watch and he realized he was just like Kate Winslet, adrift on a piece of wood, unable to call out loud enough to be heard by the people rowing the lifeboats and he didn't even have a whistle to blow to get their attention.

Or did he?

Fumbling, his quaking hand reached into his coat pocket and fell on the cell phone he had stashed in there when he discovered it had no signal. This time at least he wouldn't need any service for it to help him. He flipped it open, the screen lighting up and he was never so happy to see that the thing was still fully charged and working properly despite the attack and the tumble down the hill. Just the fact that it hadn't been lost in the latter was miracle enough.

Sam fought his cold, numb and shaking fingers and forced them to punch up the volume up to it's max then got to re-setting the alarm. It took much more effort than he would have hoped, but when those first few, loud and usually annoying tones went off and echoed off the hill, he rejoiced in the sound. Normally, he hated that noise it made when the thing went off to wake him for school early in the morning, especially after a long night of studying, but now he didn't think he had ever heard anything so sweet.

That is until he heard the sound of his named being called only a few yards away and the running of feet crunching haphazardly across broken twigs and leaves, coming straight for him. That was much better, agreed with himself just as his thoughts passed into the realm of oblivion.

_**Now**_

Dean didn't care now if they all stuck together, he could hear Sam and that was enough for him to take off at a sprint, leaving his father and Caleb in his wake. Crashing through the forest, he paid no heed to neither the branches snapping in his face nor the jutting tree roots that attempted to trip him. His focus was narrowed on only one thing: reaching Sam's voice.

After a few moments, Dean came to the realization that Sam was not calling out any more. He stopped and strained his hearing, hoping to hear him again, but there was nothing.

"SAMMY!" He yelled at the top of his lungs until his voice nearly gave out and he ran out of air in his lungs. His father wasn't far behind, neither was Caleb and soon they too were shouting for Sam.

"Dammit." John panted when they were no longer certain which direction Sam's voice had come from. Desperately, Dean raised his hand to his mouth and cupped it, pulling in a deep breath and shouting louder than he ever had before. "SAM! C'MON, MAN!...ANSWER ME!"

Again, there was nothing and Dean was starting to get frantic. They had to be close to him, but without any response from Sam, pinpointing his exact spot would take up valuable time, time they might not have if his little brother was seriously hurt. He kept moving forward anyhow with his ears open for any sound and his eyes sharp for any movement, any sign that Sam was nearby.

He was just about to charge up his voice again for another shout when Dean heard a familiar beeping sound that made him stop in his tracks and snap his head towards the direction it was coming from.

God, he couldn't recall how many times he heard that sound at 6am only to fling a pillow at Sam to get him to shut it off, but now it seemed almost surreal to hear it out in the middle of the forest. His heart leapt in his chest, the once cursed noise now a blessing.

Sprinting, Dean's feet couldn't turn over fast enough as he pointed them towards the sound, charging, crashing through bushes and dodging trees until his eyes caught the image of two large legs laying flat and outstretched ahead of him.

Dean's stomach clenched, his throat tightened in fear that he was already too late, but he didn't stop and didn't falter until he was finally at Sam's side, crashing to his knees. Panicking at the sight of so much blood covering his little brother, he had no idea where to start first and his only initial reaction was to turn his head away and call for help.

"DAD!...OVER HERE! HURRY!"

After that, he wasn't aware of much of anything, but Sam's face. His eyes were closed and face deathly pale, the only color in his skin the red and slightly swollen bruise where he's taken the punch earlier.

Swallowing hard, Dean put both hands on either side of Sam's face. He was cold to the touch.

"Sammy?" He choked. Dead God...he was too late, he thought. Tears gathered in Dean's eyes and one rogue drop fell and landed on Sam's face. "Don't do this..."

More tears would have fallen if Sam's eyelashes hadn't taken that moment to flutter. Dean almost laughed in relief at the sight, but wanted and needed more of a response, resorting to tapping his brother on the cheeks, hoping to rouse him.

"Hey...hey...Sam...it's me...wake up, buddy. C'mon...I'm here. You're gonna be okay."

Unaware that Caleb and his father had caught up and were now beside the two of them, talking quickly to each other as they assessed Sam's injuries, Dean couldn't tear his sight away from his little brother's face and blocked out most of what they were saying, he knew it wasn't good. All he wanted and prayed for was that Sam would just open those stubborn eyes.

And when he finally did, prying them open to narrow slits and peering straight up at him, Dean did laugh, his relief pouring out in his grin.

"D-D-D'n? Y-ya r-real?" Sam stuttered, his whole body shaking with shivers. Dean grabbed his hand and rubbed frozen fingers, trying to pass on some of his warmth on to his brother. "Yeah...I'm real. I'm not going anywhere. We're gonna get you outta here, okay? Just hang on."

"K-kay." Dean saw Sam's eyes starting to close again, but he didn't want him passing out on him again if he could help it.

"By the way, saw what you did to Mr. Bigglesworth back there" Dean poked him back awake. "He was a pretty impressive kitty. Way to go."

"N-not a k-kitty, j-jerk...m-mountain l-l-lion." Sam came back with a little bit of fight and the hint of a smirk that left Dean feeling satisfied and had him grinning.

"Yeah, yeah...don't get a big head now just because you killed a big 'ol pussy cat, bitch." It was Sam's turn to grin briefly, but it didn't last long when Dean saw his eyes slide to the side and catch sight of their father.

"D-d-dad?" Dean took notice of his father then, his eyes heavy with worry, but hearing his son ask for him, he grabbed Sam's other hand and clasped it tight.

"I'm right here, Sammy." Sam's gaze fixed on his father, tears spilling out and rolling from the corners to the ground.

"M-m-S-s-sorry..."

If Dean hadn't seen it with his own eyes, then he wouldn't believe what was to happen next. His father bowed his head and pulled Sam's hand towards his chest, a single drop of moisture escaping his right eye.

"Me too...I'm sorry too."

_To Be Continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Thanks again to everyone that's following and reviewing this story. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, it turned out to be a real pain in the butt to write and I'm a little worried about it, but hopefully it's not a complete dud._

**Chapter 6**

_**One Hour Later**_

Sam was a lot heavier than he looked. Despite how slim he appeared and how easily Dean's arms wrapped around his little brother's waist holding him up, supporting him as they made their way out of the forest was a backbreaking challenge even with his father assisting on the other side. Especially now that Sam held almost none of his own weight anymore making the going very slow.

On top of that, the rain refused to stop its endless, cold deluge and Sam to shivered uncontrollably while he made loud, clicking sounds as his teeth rattled together and chattered. Dean had given his coat to Sam before they set off, but it didn't seem to be helping much and he could feel every tremor that passed through him. He wanted to go faster, to get Sam to warmth and shelter as soon as possible, but the injuries he had sustained during his tangle with the wild cat made the going frustratingly slow.

Dean maintained his focus straight ahead, trying his best to avoid looking at the brutal wound on Sam's leg. Dad and Caleb had done their best to clean and dress the leg with only their meager supplies, but Dean had caught a glance at it before they had finished, leaving him feeling nauseous at the sight. What made it all the worse were the terrible screams Sam let out while they worked on making the leg secure enough for travel and they way he grabbed Dean's hand so tight that he could still feel the bruises he had left there.

There really hadn't been much Dean could have done to make his brother's pain go away, the best he could do was try to comfort him as best as he could and reassure him that their trek wouldn't last forever, but as they slowly fought their way back to the cabin, he didn't think his words were ringing so true anymore. It felt like forever to him, so how much more so did it to Sam?

"We're not too far now, Sammy." Dean heard his father grunt out beside him. He honestly had no idea how close they were to the cabin, but trusted his dad's words, giving him some hope that they would soon be safe and warm in the shelter. Walking Sam like this the eight miles back to their car would never be possible while he was in this state, but at least the cabin would give them some protection from the elements before help could arrive.

All they had to do was get there, which was easier said than done. Dean chanced a glance at Sam, who's face was obscured by his overly long bangs while his chin touched down to his chest, his head lolling from side to side as they continued onward. Despite being only half-lucid, Sam still managed to keep moving with him and his father. Every now and then he would whimper or moan, but he hardly spoke, which worried Dean to no end.

He just hoped to God that Caleb had been right about there being a ranger's station a few miles north of them. He had left for it at the same time he and his father helped Sam off the ground, hoping to find someone manning or at the very least a radio that could help them get his brother off the mountain and to the nearest hospital.

"Hey, Sammy...how ya doin'?" He asked, seeing Sam's eyes were closed while they walked.

"Uhhhnnn" Sam mumbled, opening his eyes slightly. "D-d-don' wan' p-pancakes."

"Pancakes? Dude, you really have no idea what you're saying, do you?" Dean replied with faked cheeriness all the while clamping hard down on the growing twist In his stomach.

Sam wasn't making much sense anymore whenever he checked on him. Sometimes he would respond clearly and then there were the times like these where he was so out of it that he said the most random things, but at least he was still awake enough to make some kind of sign that he was still with them, which was good enough for now, in Dean's opinion. Hopefully, he'd come back around once they got him wrapped in some blankets to warm him up and they could treat his injuries better.

"There it is." Dad announced, his voice betraying his own weariness, but his relief at seeing the welcome sight of the cabin was one that Dean shared with him.

Even though they had come within eye-shot of the shelter, it was then that Sam decided that then was a good time to go completely limp in their arms.

"Sam? Sam...c'mon, buddy. Not yet...you can rest when we get inside." Dad stopped their forward momentum, while Dean took to tapping Sam on the face, hoping to wake him up enough so that they wouldn't have to carry him completely the rest of the way.

"Open you eyes now, Sam!" Their father ordered and that seemed to have some effect on the youngest as a moan issued from deep within Sam's throat.

"C'mon, Sammy...that it. Just a bit further." He cajoled him softer this time and Dean felt some of the weight lift off his shoulder as Sam took a step forward with his good leg and he grinned, feeling a swell of pride in his brother's stubborn tenacity.

They continued on, step after step until mercifully, they were at the door to the cabin and Dad was swinging the door wide open. It was a mess inside the small shack with blood on the walls, furniture over turned and debris strewn about from the havoc Caleb and Dean had unleashed on the werewolves living there. But on top of that, there was the all-pervasive smell of body odor. Obviously the previous tenants of the place didn't believe in bathing or personal hygiene.

"Wow...these guys lived like animals." Dean muttered, helping his father haul Sam towards a cot on the other side of the room, trying to mask his feelings of unease with a little humor. It didn't help much, only earned him a sharp look from his father and he immediately shut up and concentrated on getting Sam on the bed as gently as he could.

Dad let go and allowed Dean to finish sitting Sam down on the cot and guiding him with an arm around his back to lay down. The harder part came next as Dean picked up Sam's good leg and lifted it onto the bed. He hesitated before touching the injured one, knowing that moving it would cause his brother more pain, but it had to be done.

Sam's eyes snapped open as soon as Dean picked up the foot of his wounded leg and he let out a heart-wrenching whimper and clenched his teeth tight, but didn't cry out.

"I'm sorry, Sam" He apologized for the forced movement, but was as gentle as he be getting the leg on the bed. Once finished with the agonizing task, Dean started unbuttoning and stripping Sam of his wet clothes while violent tremors and shivers took over his body. In the mean time, his father found a kerosene lamp and lit it, filling the room with a dull, orange glow. Grim faced, he joined Dean in helping take off his brother's clothes, finding a pair of scissors in their first aid kit in order to cut away his jeans without hurting him any further.

Dean quickly went about the cabin, finding as many blankets as he could and gathered them in his hands, bringing them back to the cot where his father had Sam stripped down to his underwear. Wordlessly, He took the blankets from Dean and began piling them onto his shivering son.

"We need to get a fire going." His dad spoke up and stood, heading for the back door. "I'm gonna get some wood. Stay here with him."

Dean nodded while he tucked Sam deeper into the blankets. There wasn't much else they could do now except wait and hope Caleb could find some help.

Sam looked up, a hand pulling the top blanket up to his chin, his eyes closing sleepily. Dean was afraid of letting Sam drift off, not wanting him to lose consciousness to the point where he couldn't wake him up again.

"Hey, dude...stay awake for now, okay? Just until some help arrives, then you can sleep."

"M'tired."

"I know ya are, Bro. Just try to stay with me here, will ya? Talk me..."

"Bout w-what?"

"I dunno, anything...What about that girl? Rachel, right? She was pretty hot, huh?"

A ghost of a grin passed over Sam's face, his eyes opening further, but with a sheen of glassiness to them. "Sh-she's nice...Sh-she helped me..."

"Helped you with what?" Dean prodded, trying to keep Sam engaged in the conversation.

"T-test..." Sam simply answered, confusing Dean.

"Test? Since when did you need help with tests, Sam?"

"You d-don't understand...I was t-ten dollars short day of the t-test...she loaned it to me." Now Dean was even more confounded.

"Why would you need to pay for a test? Unless of course you were paying someone to take it for you. But, that sounds more like something I would do and not you, nerd-boy."

"It was the SAT." Sam mumbled back and at first, Dean wasn't sure he was hearing him right.

"SAT?" Dean suddenly had a sinking feeling creeping up in his chest. "Why would you be taking that?...That test is for college, Sam." He gulped when the whole picture came together for him and hit him square between the eyes. "Whoa...whoa...wait a sec here...are you telling me you want to go to college? Are serious? Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam's eyes flicked open wide as though he was just as surprised as Dean for letting his secret out.

"Was gonna...B-but...I didn't know how." Sam choked out, his chattering teeth settling down somewhat and his voice gaining some strength now that he was warming up. However the lines and creases in his face gave away the fact that he was still in a terrible amount of pain, even if it all wasn't physical.

"We could have at least talked about it...I would have listened."

"Would you? Would Dad?" Dean couldn't answer that, he knew full well what their dad would say and God only knew how much he himself wanted his family to stay intact.

"I g-got in though, Dean...got a full ride to Stanford." Sam let out a short, weary and humorless laugh. "But, I guess it doesn't matter now anyway...N-never gonna go...gonna die in this smelly cabin."

"Sam...say that one more time and you _will_ die because _I _will kill you." Dean shot back. "You're not gonna die in here. We're gonna get you patched up and when you're all better we can talk about this whole school thing, got it?"

"Y-you don't mean it...you don't want me to go, do you?"

"It's never really mattered what I want, man. But I promise..." Dean swallowed, ready to say almost anything right then if it meant Sam wouldn't give up, even if it meant tearing his own heart out of his chest.. "You get better and I'll talk to dad...if you still really want to go..." Unless Dean could convince him to stay somehow, he thought.

Sam slowly blinked, his eyes reddening. "You'd do that?"

"I don't make promises I can't keep, Sammy. You know that."

Sam allowed a tear to slip out and nodded, closing his eyes. "Just don't tell dad yet...I have to do it."

"Tell me what?" The question seemed to come out of nowhere until the dark silhouette of their father entered the room carrying a load of wood and eyeing his sons suspiciously, knowing intuitively that Sam had been asking Dean to keep something from him. Dean hated lying to his father, but letting Sam down would be worse.

"Nothing, Sir." Dean replied a little too quickly, but covered his ass with just as much speed. "Sammy's just talking gibberish again. He's still kinda out of it, ya know?"

Dad didn't appear to believe it for a second, but he didn't press the issue, instead he walked over to the fireplace and dropped the wood into it, gathering up some kindling and lighting a fire.

Dean turned from his father while he stoked the fire and looked back down at Sam, the appreciation in his eyes almost as warming as the fire that started burning brighter and brighter across the room.

_**3 hours later**_

Caleb thanked the Army Rangers for his land navigation training all those years ago for without it, he might not have been able to find his way through the dark and rain drenched forest and to the door of the tiny outpost. Covering treacherous ground at night was never easy, but unlike the times he spent trying to make his way through the wilderness while he was in the Army, he at least had a flashlight this time, had been through this forest several times before and knew the general direction in which he needed to be heading. That being said, it was still no simple task leaving John, Dean and Sam behind when the youngest was so badly hurt and the way was agonizingly slow as hills and dense brush prevented him from going at full-pelt towards the ranger station.

He doubted it would be manned, at least not at this time of year. Small outposts like these were usually only occupied during fire season and when he finally reached the tiny cabin that served as the station, he wasn't surprised to find it empty.

The good thing about these places however, was even if they were deserted, they usually still had a radio with which to call for help and that was his only focus as he swiftly picked the padlock on the door and burst in. Glancing about, he searched the small building. It was mostly empty save for a green, fabric cot and a knotty pine roll-top desk which he went straight towards. Thankfully, it wasn't locked and the top rolled up easily for him. Inside the desk, he found the radio sitting in the middle of the table and inside his chest, Caleb felt a great weight lift.

Wasting little time, flicked on the power button, pleased beyond measure to see the thing come to life and to hear static come through the speaker. Grabbing the handset, Caleb scanned the channels, sending out a distress call to anyone that might be listening.

For way too long, all he heard was static coming back at him, but he refused to give up. The radio was his only hope of getting help quickly for Sam.

He switched the radio over to the next frequency and repeated his plea for help. He wasn't expecting a reply to come right away, but when a matter-of-fact voice suddenly came over the other end, he couldn't help but nearly laugh in relief.

"This is Montana State Police Dispatch responding to your distress call, please state your emergency, Sir."

OOOOOOOOOO

"Sam...Sammy? Open your eyes, kiddo."

Sam groaned when John placed his hand on his clammy forehead. Heat came off of him in waves and from touch alone, he knew the fever wracking his son was sky-high and his stubborn as ever boy remained as he was with his eyes shut. He never was one to do as he was told without question and even now in his precarious state he had to struggle to get him to obey.

Dean came in closer and eyed John worriedly. He wished he could offer him some reassurance that Sam was going to be alright, but he wasn't going to lie; John had checked the large wound on his leg and knew gangrene when he saw it. Swollen, angry, red skin with weeping yellow and green pus was something he'd seen before in combat and he knew from experience that the infection that had settled within him was stronger than anything they had on them to combat it. Given how rapidly it had developed and spread, he was well aware of the consequences letting it go untreated was, but all he could do was hope help would come in time; he was powerless to do much else.

"C'mon, Sam...I need you to drink something." John moved his hand from Sam's forehead to the back of his neck and encouraged him to rise enough for him to place the canteen full of water up to his lips so he could drink. Sam offered little resistance and opened his mouth fractionally, allowing John to pour some inside. The hard part was getting Sam to swallow without choking or spitting up the water again like he had already several times before.

Thankfully, this time he kept the water down with little mess and John was causiously pleased, but still had to push down that little voice in his head that said that his son was in dire straights; he wouldn't allow himself to go there, he couldn't. He had to focus on keeping him hydrated for now.

"There you go, Son...just a little bit more..." He tried again ply more water into him.

Sam shook his head. "N-no...m'kes me s-sick." He croaked out weakly.

"Sam...c'mon, man..." Dean spoke up to encourage his brother. "It's just water, you puke it up and it's not a big deal, alright?"

Somehow Dean always had the right words to make Sam comply. He opened his eyes to mere slits, eying his brother and took another sip from the canteen. John had to admit at times to a small bit of jealousy whenever he saw the bond his kids had between each other in action, but if it helped keep Sam alive, he would never begrudge it, even if it made him feel like an outsider looking in on his own family.

John wasn't oblivious to the fact that Sam and Dean were so close because of his own failings as a parent. He had never been prepared to raise the boys on his own and though he believed he was doing the right thing by hunting down every single supernatural sonofabitch out there, he always had this underlying guilt for leaving his kids on their own so much, for not letting them live a normal life and for piling so much responsibility on Dean's shoulders. But, in the long run he was proud of them, of how they took care of each other and one day when he was gone, when his dangerous job finally took him out, he was confident that they'd be able to handle anything that came their way without him and that knowledge alone trampled over any regrets he had in bringing them up.

However, those guilty feelings were coming back with a vengeance now as he watched Sam struggle to just keep down the small sips of water he was now taking. Sure, it wasn't his fault that a mountain lion had attacked him, but it was his actions and his words that drove Sam away in the first place. John had been hard on him, but he just didn't know of any other way to prepare him for the dangerous life they led.

He wouldn't kid himself into thinking that something like this wouldn't happen again. Sam always seemed to have one foot out the door, ready to bolt from their life and from his under control, but he knew he had to find a way to stamp that out before he ended up hurt again.

In his mind, he made a pact with himself that when his son made it through this...and he would make it through this... then he'd tighten the reigns on him, keep him close, even if he chafed against it. This whole situation only drove home to him that Sam out in the world on his own would only end up with something like this occurring again and he wouldn't let that happen; not while he could still help it. His youngest wouldn't be leaving his line of sight any time soon.

John helped Sam lay back against the pillow after he started coughing up more of the water than he was drinking and took a second to smooth back his sweat-matted bangs that were covering his face. Sam's pained features smoothed somewhat under his gentle ministrations and John realized then that it had been far too long since the last time he had touched his son with such affection and that sent another stab of regret into his heart.

"Hey, Dad? You hear that?" Dean asked then suddenly stood up and ran to a window. The first few beams of morning light were just beginning to peak out from behind the dissipating rain clouds, giving off a pink and orange glow that flooded the cabin when he pulled back the dirty curtain and looked up at the sky.

John stood still and tried to pick up on what Dean was hearing. It took a moment for his ears to finally catch up with his son's, but when it did he felt a heavy burden lift from his shoulders. It was a welcome sound, the sound of hope; of helicopter blades cutting through air and coming closer.

**_To Be Continued..._**


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: **Thanks again to everyone who's been reading and reviewing this story. Y'all are the best! :D_

**Chapter 7 **

_**2 hours later**_

Dean was pretty sure his lungs were going to implode. Running through eight miles of woods will do that to you, but he really couldn't care less about his temporary discomfort, his only objective was to get out of the forest and back to the car.

This all would have been a lot easier if the helicopter that evacuated Sam could have given them a ride as well, but the flight paramedic that loaded his brother in had been insistent that there was no room for them in the small aircraft and they needed space to work on him. Dean wasn't a big fan of flying, but when he saw the chopper take off with Sam on board leaving him and his dad behind, he would have given his left arm to be on it with him just so his brother wouldn't have to be alone.

All they could do after that was race down the mountain on foot back to their cars. The miles of wilderness flew by as they ran, but still it wasn't fast enough in Dean's mind. Dad wasn't too far behind him and was holding his own and keeping pace with Dean's strides. However, he had to remind himself that his father wasn't a young man any longer, so while he pushed the pace, he also held back some so he wouldn't leave his dad in the dust.

Finally, a break in the trees showed through ahead of him and a dirt road came into view. With a great sense of relief, he also saw his car waiting on the shoulder where he had left it parked behind his father's truck. Behind him, Dean heard his father panting hard at his heels as he caught up to him and side-by side the two of them covered the last few hundred meters at a near sprint.

There wasn't much time for either of them to recover when they at last reached the rear bumper of the Impala, both of them too stoked with adrenaline and anxious energy to get ont the road to do much more than take a moment and catch their breath.

Dean looked at his dad. Sweat dripped from his brow and his face was red from exertion, but in his eyes he saw steely determination.

Still out of breath, but recovered enough now to speak, the former marine in his father started to come through and take over. "Get in the car, I'll drive. We'll leave the truck for Caleb."

Dean didn't need to be told twice and went directly to the passenger side and climbed in. Not wanting to leave Caleb, who was still out there somewhere in the forest, stranded without a vehicle, his dad went to the truck and opened the door, hiding his keys inside where he knew Caleb would look for them. Since the other hunter had left his own truck parked at the motel and taken a ride with his dad, he would need it to get to town as they just didn't have the time to wait for him to get back.

It was a thirty mile drive to the hospital the paramedic had told them they were taking Sam to, but with his dad behind the wheel, the miles went by in a blur. Neither of them spoke much on the way. Dean could tell by the way Dad's knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel and the muscles of his jaw clenched tight that he was in a focused zone that demanded no interruption.

The tension in the car was thick as butter and neither of them needed to say anything to know what the other one was thinking. Would Sam at least still be alive by the time they made it? That was a question neither of them wanted to ask out loud. The paramedic had been professional with his assurances that they would take good care of his brother, but Dean couldn't recall seeing anyone look so sick before and Sam hadn't even stirred when they loaded him up and took him away.

He felt a sinking chasm open up in his stomach when he realized that he had never even said good-bye to his brother before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Dean forced his thoughts away from the morbid. Sam would be fine, he tried to convince himself and focused instead watching the road ahead for any signs for the hospital.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

"Temp's 105.1...BP's 110 over 70...let's get X-ray down here...you got that line in yet?...hand me those forceps, will you? I want to get a better look at this...how are his O2 sats?..93%, Doctor...okay, let's get some oxygen into him... Damn, will you look at that? I can visualize the femoral artery...jeez, this kid's lucky, another centimeter..."

A mixture of male and female voices floated disembodied over him, mingling with each other and overlapping. He was freezing and someone was poking him in the arm, but it wasn't enough to draw him out completely from the fuzzy, twilight place he swam around in. It wasn't until he felt something come over his face that his eyes snapped open.

Whatever it was, it was unwelcome and closing in. He couldn't breathe...He had to get it off. He tried to lift his hand to wrench if from his face, but something was holding his arm down.

"Sam?...can you hear me? Don't pull off the mask, okay? It's going to help you breathe."

A blurry face of a woman rose above him. _How does she know my name?_ He wondered sluggishly, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get his mind to fire on all cylinders. He had no idea where he was or how he got there, was only aware that it was bright and loud; a cacophony of multiple voices tripping over each other into a confusing chorus.

"You're in the hospital, Sam. My name's Dr. Warren. We're going to take care of you."

"Dean?...Dad?" Where were they? His eyes darted about, but there was no sign of either of them.

"I'm sure they're on there way, okay? Just relax." She assured him.

Just how was he supposed to relax? Everything hurt; every breath every, movement, every touch to his skin.

People were talking over him again. "Where's the surgery consult already?" Dr. Warren asked, but she had left Sam's line of sight and he was too exhausted to care where she had gone. Time had no meaning any longer as he drifted in and out letting the sea of voices wash over him in waves. Every now and then he'd catch a snippet of what they were saying, most if didn't make any sense, but when he heard the words. "let's get him up to surgery." He forced his eyes open.

"Surgery?" he asked, his own words sounding disturbingly distant and foreign in his ears, as though they were coming from someone else.

The woman he had seen before came into view. What was her name again? Didn't matter. He didn't want to go. He was afraid. He needed Dean, needed dad. Where were they?

"It's okay, Sam...just breathe. We're going to get that leg of yours fixed up and you're going to be just fine."

Next thing he was aware of was movement, of ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights passing by over his head, making him nauseous. He wanted to tell them to stop making the world feel like it was tilting upside down, but the energy required to open his mouth and speak had fled, replaced by a terrible malaise too powerful to overcome.

When they finally came to a stop, the woman who had spoken to him before was gone, replaced by a man this time who looked like he was wearing a shower cap. He seemed to be speaking to Sam, but his voice kept fading in and out. "Hello...Dr. Ellison...Gonna take good... just gave you something...make you sleepy..."

Sam felt a warmth spread from the back of his hand and travel up his arm. He couldn't deny that it actually felt quite pleasant. Just like floating on a fluffy cloud while wrapped in a thick, toasty blanket, he embraced the comfort and sank into the loss of pain and fear, drifting off into a deep, dreamless abyss filled only with darkness.

OOOOOOOOOO

Breaking every posted speed limit, Dean thanked God that all of the cops in this god-forsaken state seemed to be on a doughnut break and failed to notice the black, muscle car loudly tearing up the road until they reached the parking lot of their destination. His father pulled into a spot with a squeal of the tires, not bothering to make sure that the car was actually between the lines before he stomped on the brakes.

Dean was first out of the car, opening the door before the engine was shut off, but his father wasn't far behind as they quickly crossed the lot to the emergency room entrance and stormed through the doors.

Dad led the way to the reception desk, leaning over the top to get the nurse behind it to notice him. She was on the phone and held up a finger to them both before either of them could speak and Dean saw a muscle twitch over his father's left eye, his irritation and exasperation palpable. Thankfully, she hung up the phone before his father exploded and she looked up to meet his intense eyes. She immediately seemed to pick up on his annoyance and anxiety and focused her attention on trying to keep the situation from becoming volatile.

"I'm here for my son, Sam Winchester. He would have come in on the med flight..."

She quickly nodded. "Alright, sir. Let me just look him up in the computer." She turned her attention to the computer screen and started typing. Dean unconsciously tapped his fingers on the counter impatiently.

"Uh...I'm not seeing him in the ER..." Dean felt a wash of coolness come over him. What did that mean? He felt his breath catch in his throat and he didn't exhale again until the nurse suddenly spoke up again. "oh..there he is."

"Where?" Dean asked at the same time as his father.

"He's in surgery on the third floor." He closed his eyes with a sigh. Sam was still alive and he didn't think he'd ever been so relieved to here that he was being operated on.

Neither he nor his father offered any thanks to the nurse, instead they just started off for the doors that led to the rest of the hospital.

"Wait!" The reception nurse called them back. "I can get someone to talk to you. Dr. Warren saw your son in the ER and treated him before he went up. I can get her for you."

They both stopped and turned back. Dean felt the pull to just leave the ER and go right up to the surgical wing, but getting information on Sam's condition was paramount.

His father appeared to think the same and nodded to the nurse who picked up the phone and paged the doctor. Dad pulled him into a corner, out of the way of the nurses, doctors and patients walking about. Dean felt it hard to stay still and paced back and forth while they waited for the doctor to show.

What may have been only five minutes in reality felt like an eternity to Dean. "How long is this doctor gonna take already?" He complained.

"Calm down, Dean. Getting worked up isn't going to help."

"I know." He let his shoulders slump. "I just hate having to wait here with out thumbs up our asses."

Dean's attention was suddenly drawn to a lady in a white coat approaching them from behind.

"Are you Sam Winchester's father?" She asked.

He responded with a nod. "I'm John Winchester."

She held out a hand and introduced herself while his father took it and gave it a quick shake. "I'm Dr. Warren. I was in charge of Sam's care in the ER." She looked about, her curly, red hair bouncing from side to side. Under other circumstances Dean might have seen her as good-looking if not a little old for him, but right now, he took little notice. All he wanted from her was info and fast.

"It's a little busy in here right now. How about we go someplace a little quieter so we can talk?" She suggested and Dean finally noticed the other people sitting around the ER in chairs waiting for their turn to be seen. Dad nodded and the doctor turned and led them away from the crowded waiting area.

Following close behind her, she came to a door and turned the knob, holding it open until they crossed through.

"Please...have a seat. She gestured to a couch in what Dean could only assume was an employee lounge. She grabbed a chair herself and pulled it close to the sofa, sitting down and leaning in.

"I need to know how my son is doing, doctor. Is he going to make it ? Be honest, I don't need you to gloss over the details or dumb it down for me, I just want the truth." Dad requested frankly and pointedly.

The doctor, to her credit, didn't miss a beat, she had obviously dealt with many family members before and she wasn't intimidated in the least by his father, which was unusual to see and strangely refreshing.

"First off...I think Sam has a good chance of making it through this. He has our chief of surgery, Dr. Ellison operating on him right now to repair what damage he can to his leg. He'll try to close the wound as best as he can. But, I won't sugar-coat it, when Sam first came in he had a high fever and it appears that he was in the first stages of a gangrenous infection and unfortunately there's a possibility that the leg might not be salvageable should it get any worse."

"You mean he could lose his leg?" Dean swallowed a lump of fear in his throat.

"I'm just saying that it's possible, not that that will be the outcome. I'm sorry, but the important thing is to control the infection first and foremost, saving his limb comes second. Sepsis already appears to setting in, poisoning his blood and that can be life-threatening if we don't strongly combat it. Now, he'll be on some of the strongest antibiotics we have after surgery, but if they fail to combat the infection effectively, then the source of his illness may have to be removed."

Dad was quiet for few moments, then nodded solemnly, but Dean knew that he hadn't and wouldn't ever accept the possibility of Sam having his leg amputated. He'd find a way to fix this whether he had to track down some kind of hoodoo priest, faith healer or even make a pact with the devil himself, he wouldn't let that happen.

"Thank you, doctor for being honest." His father finally spoke.

She nodded grimly. "You're welcome. Now, It might turn out to be a lengthy surgery, but there is a family waiting room on the surgical floor where you can stretch out and take a nap. You both look like you could use some rest. Dr. Ellison will come and find you when he's all finished and let you know more about his condition. I'm sorry I don't have any more information for you right now, we'll have a clearer picture of Sam's treatment plan after he's out of surgery." She stood up and shook his father's hand again. "I'm afraid I have to get back to the ER now, but trust me when I say that Sam is in the best hands possible right now and everything will be done bring him a round to a full recovery."

Dean watched the doctor leave then turned back to his father for some kind of guidance. Their eyes locked and Dean caught the exhaustion, guilt and weariness there, but it was quickly dissipated when his father once again took charge

"Well, you heard her." He said. "Let's go wait."

_To Be Continued._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I'm so sorry about taking so long to finally update this story, but my mind sort of turned to mush with it and I needed to take a break from writing in order to get it working again. Anyhoo, I hope you like this next chapter, there's not a whole lot of action going on and it's kinda short, but I'm happy to at least get the ball rolling again. :D_

**Chapter 8**

_**Three hours later...**_

John counted the tiles on the floor for the hundredth time, the television in the corner replaying CNN's headlines offered no distraction to his dark and morose mood. Next to him, Dean nervously tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his impatience and worry palpable to the older man.

Dean was up and moving a moment later, once again taking to pacing back and forth across the small waiting area, unable to sit still any longer. There wasn't anything john could say to his eldest son that might alleviate his anxiety, for he felt it all himself; the uncertainty, the fear of losing his youngest, of losing whatever semblance of 'normal' they might enjoy... all of it was overwhelming and he was in no shape to provide any comfort at that moment.

Damn, but he was failing, he thought. He had driven Sam away and now he didn't even have a clue as to how he could help Dean deal with his raging emotions, how could he when he didn't even know how to handle his own. What kind of father was he?

"John?" he turned as a familiar voice filled the room.

"Caleb." he sighed in relief, glad to see his friend had made it out of the forest unscathed.

"How is he?" Caleb asked as he strode into the room and took as seat next to him.

"Don't know yet." Was all he could reply, his vision once again drifting to the tiles. "The ER doc seemed to think..." He almost couldn't say the next few words. "that he might lose his leg."

"It won't come to that, ya know. Sam is a strong kid."

"I know..." John hollowly came back. "But, she said the infection is bad...really bad."

"He'll beat it, John." Caleb responded swiftly and assuredly.

He nodded half-heartedly. Sure, Sam was strong for his age, but there was only so much one could do when faced with billions of uncontrolled microbes invading a body.

"You look beat...maybe you and Dean should take a little nap. I'll wake you when the doctor comes in."

Nap? Was Caleb serious? How could he sleep right now? His son might already be getting his leg amputated as they speak. He shot the younger man a look that explained better his opinion than any words ever could.

"How about some coffee then?"

John nodded. He could use the caffeine.

Caleb gave his shoulder a quick pat before he left the room. John sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his coarse stubble. When he drew his hand away from his face, he noticed how Dean's attention had shifted to the door, his face frozen. He turned to see what had gripped his son's attention.

A grim-faced, balding man in green scrubs strode into the room and walked straight over to him. John was on his feet immediately.

"Are you Sam's father?"

"Yes" He felt his mouth go dry.

The man, whom he could only assume was Sam's doctor, offered his hand and John took it, shaking it briefly.

"I'm Dr. Ellison, your son's surgeon. Why don't you take a seat so we can talk..."

OOOOOOOOOO

He floated in and out, up and down in a vast land filled with absolutely nothing. The pillow-like softness encasing his brain that was all too enticing to leave. It was heavenly at first and he would have liked stayed in that safe and comfortable place forever but, like everything in his life, it was too good to last.

A dull ache surfaced, annoying a first and easily pushed aside in favor of more rest, but when it grew into a throbbing mass of overwhelming pain, his time in that nether-region between sleep and wakefulness had come to a crashing end.

Slowly, he pried crusty, heavy eyelids open. For a moment, he was confused, unsure of where he was, but the memory of teeth digging into his flesh came back at him like a boomerang. He closed his eyes again to block out the mental image and the ever-increasing pain shooting from his leg, into his hips and up his spine.

He wasn't even aware that he had started whimpering pathetically nor that his hand had instinctively wrapped around the side-rail of his bed and squeezed it in a death-grip, riding out the waves of pain in the only way he could.

It wasn't until he felt someone grab his hand and pry it from the rail and hold it that he realized that he wasn't alone.

"Sammy?"

_Dean? _He reflexively squeezed back, not at all self-conscious of the fact that he was so relieved, comforted and assured that all would be alright while he held his big brother's hand.

He braved opening his eyes once again and was greeted by Dean's face floating fuzzily over him.

"Hey" Dean smiled, but even through the haze of pain, Sam could see the underlying concern. "Welcome back, Bud."

Sam was confused at first. Where had he been? What happened? Why did everything hurt? But, only a moment after prodding his memories, he had a flash of recall; hunting werewolves, the fight with his father, teeth sinking and shredding into his flesh. It all came back to him.

"Dean?" he tried to speak, his throat crusty and sore so that his voice was barely audible and nearly a squeak. "Dad?"

He hadn't seen his father yet, but the moment he spoke, the man himself appeared.

"Hey, Sammy."

Despite the pain he was in, Sam found it hard to keep his eyes open. He couldn't recall a time when he felt so tired, so drained and weak, but there were things he had to know before he could let himself fall back into sleep. He knew his leg had been a complete mess and he wasn't so naive to think that it would ever be the same again, but the only thing he truly cared about was whether it was even still attached to his body.

"My leg..." He forced out, nearly choking on the thought that it might be gone. "Is it?..."

Sam felt pressure on his head. Was that his father stroking his hair? He couldn't remember the last time he had done that and Sam couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad sign that his worst fears had come true.

"Don't worry, it's still there and you're gonna be okay, son." Dad replied calmly, but he could almost feel the tension in his voice. "The docs did a good job patching you up, you just need to stay strong and get better. Everything'll be alright, got it?"

Sam glanced over at Dean, trying to read his face. There were times when his brother was an open book, when he wore his emotions on his sleeve, but this was not one of those times. He had on his best poker face, the one he used when he had a terrible hand yet made the world believe he had a royal flush.

They weren't telling him everything and he would have demanded that they did if it weren't for the fact that his eyelids were increasingly becoming heavier and heavier. At least he had the feeling that no matter what happened, his family would be there, that he wouldn't be alone and after remembering the way he had longed for them during his struggles in the woods, that certainty would be enough to comfort him for now and allow him to drift off into the rest his body demanded.

OOOOOOOOOO

_**Three days later**_

Dean was restless.

Dad had ordered him to the motel room for a full eight hours of sleep in a real bed, promising to call him should anything happen, but he just couldn't turn his thoughts off enough to actually find any sort of rest. He lay in bed, staring up at the whirling ceiling fan as far from sleep as possible.

How could he sleep when Sam was still so sick?

The doctors were 'cautiously optimistic' that they could fight the infection with antibiotics and possibly another surgery without removing his leg, but to Dean, the situation was dire. Dean had stayed once for a changing of Sam's bandages, getting an in-your-face look at the damage done to Sam's leg and even after all of the gore and blood he had seen over the span of his short lifetime, he nearly lost his lunch seeing the wound.

On top of that, He had never seen his brother so ill before and there just wasn't anything he could do about it. In the three days since Sam's surgery, he had only woken up a couple of times for a few, brief moments before slipping back into sleep. His fever was still higher than the doctor's would have liked and even though they said that was to be expected, Dean never the less, felt like his world was spinning out of control. He had never felt so completely useless when it came to Sam's well-being and now he couldn't even be there for him.

He was frustrated and angry that his father had sent him here for sleep he was never going to get and he had half a mind to forget his orders and go back to the hospital anyway, but orders were orders and despite his temptation to resist them, he knew his father was only doing this for his own good.

But, that still didn't make him feel any better.

He was just about to give up even trying to rest in bed when there was a knock at the door, startling him. Dean grabbed his nearest weapon, a .45 that was resting on the nightstand as he wasn't expecting anyone to come by.

Cautiously, he headed for the door, standing off to the side and peeking through the peephole then breathing a quiet sigh of relief seeing that it was Caleb on the other side. Unlocking the dead-bolt, Dean opened the door and greeted the older hunter.

"Caleb, what are you doing here? I thought you left town a couple of days ago."

"I did, but the job Pastor Jim called me for was only a few hours away and I wrapped it up yesterday, so I thought I's swing by and check on Sam. Your father said I could stay with you for the night since visiting hours were over for non-family members."

"Yeah, sure...c'mon in." Dean gestured and Caleb strode into the room, carrying a small duffel bag and dropping it on the other bed in the room.

"So...how is he?" Caleb asked.

Dean exhaled deeply before answering. "He's hanging in there...He's still pretty sick, but uh..." Dean rubbed his head as he took a seat on the bed then leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and looking at the floor. "Doctors are hopeful that they won't have to..ya know...do anything drastic."

Caleb nodded, understanding how Dean couldn't quite show or put into words how frightened he was.

Dean tried to let the tightening ball of anxiety he'd been carrying around settle in the pit of his stomach in order to keep it from taking over in the presence of the other hunter and he had found that the best way to do that was with distraction. "So...wanna beer?" he asked.

"Nah...I'm good." Caleb replied, sitting on his own bed then sighing as though he had a confession to make. "Look, Dean...truth is, your Dad is worried. He asked me to come look in on you. He says you haven't been sleeping or eating much and I know all of this stuff going on with Sam is tough, but you know that you can't help your brother out by killing yourself." Dean at first was a little miffed that his father had pulled this on him, sending Caleb to come and babysit. It wasn't as if his old man had been eating or sleeping all that well lately either, yet he was still at the hospital.

Caleb offered Dean a little grin to break up some of the heaviness and tension growing in the room. "So, whether you like it or not, you're going to get some sleep tonight, even if I have to knock you out to do it."

"S'that a threat?" Dean chimed back, feeling his own lips curl up a little at the corners.

"You bet." Caleb answered. "And in the morning, you're eating a full breakfast too."

"Okay...but only if you give my father the same treatment tomorrow."

"I would, but I sort of like living."

Dean had to grin a little at that and true to his word, Caleb began turning off lights and ordered Dean to get under the covers. He wondered petulantly if the man was also going to read him a story and sing him a lullaby in order to get him to sleep. But, as it turns out, Caleb didn't need to. Moments after he climbed into bed, his phone rang with his father's number popping up on his caller ID.

Immediately he was on edge holding the thing, almost afraid to answer it as it couldn't be good if Dad was calling this late at night.

Almost mechanically, he brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"_Dean, you need to get down here."_ His father spoke without preamble and minutes later, Dean was gunning the engine of the Impala down the highway, racing for the hospital.

To Be Continued...


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Whew... This chapter was a lot more difficult to write than I thought it would be. Hopefully, its not a complete failure, but I have to warn you that I am not a doctor nor have I ever played one on TV, so most of the medical jargon and such has come from what I gathered on Wikipedia, thus it is probably chocked full of mistakes. But despite that, there's quite a bit of shmoop and angst and I hope you like it._ Happy Easter! :D

**Chapter 9**

John swept a hand through his hair unconsciously, his mind reeling with worry and uncertainty. One minute he had been watching his son sleep peacefully and the next everything had gone to hell.

It was only a short while ago when John finally felt that they were getting over the worst of Sam's injury. His doctor was pleased to see Sam's white blood cell count falling, indicating that the antibiotics were working and the infection was clearing up. His fever was finally starting to come down and for the first time in days, Sam was getting some much needed, undisturbed rest.

The best news of all was that Sam would keep his leg and hopefully, with therapy and possibly another surgery, he'd gain full use of it again. Feeling some relief for the first time since Sam was attacked, John momentarily let his guard down and while Sam slept, he too began to doze in his chair and fell into a deep sleep.

The next thing he knew, alarms were going off. John startled awake only to find Sam looking wild-eyed up at him, his faced masked with terror. He gripped his chest and panted while sweat dribbled freely from his forehead and soaked his hair.

John was immediately up and out of his chair, going to his boy. "Sammy?...What is it? What's wrong?"

"Chest...it hurts...can't...breathe.." Sam wheezed as he tried to speak, his lips taking on a bluish tint. Panic swept across Sam's face, reflecting the ungodly fear that had gripped him.

"It's okay, Sammy...it'll be okay. "John tried to reassure him, even though his own heart skipped several beats seeing his son in such distress. "I'm gonna get help."

John started for the door, but Sam grabbed him by the arm in a death grip. "Dad...don't...leave..." he panted heavily, squeezing his eyes shut, tears rolling down his face.

"I won't, I promise." John scrabbled for the bedside call button, pressing it several times, then giving up on it altogether, raised his voice. "Somebody! I need help in here!" He shouted to the open door.

Soon the room was flooded with nurses and doctors. A mask was placed over Sam's face to help him breathe and all the while his eyes remained fixed on John pleadingly, his hand still firmly locked tight to his arm. John took his hand, but soon found himself being pulled away by someone from behind him.

"Please, sir...we need you to clear out."

"I'm not leaving him." John stated firmly, but the voice and the hand on his shoulder were unrelenting.

"You'll only be in the way, sir...please, we need to take care of your son."

"No!" John whirled, coming face to face with a thin, grim-faced, male nurse, ready to fight him tooth and nail so he could stay.

"Do I have to call security, sir?" The man asked, sensing John's hostility. John could have easily snapped this guy's arm for all of the anxious anger coursing through him, but getting kicked out of the hospital wouldn't help Sam and reason prevailed.

He turned back to Sam, the fear was still there and John was reluctant to let him go, but it was Sam who released him, letting his arm go and nodding to him, putting on a brave face and telling John with his eyes that he'd be okay without him.

"I'll just be outside, Sam."

After that he found himself outside the room, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, waiting once again for someone to tell him something, anything about Sam's condition. He hated being so out of control like this, not knowing what was happening or what they were doing to Sam. It was hard to think straight while people strode in and out of Sam's room with hurried steps and their serious faces only heightened his anxiety.

There was nothing he could do. He was useless and he hated this feeling of helplessness building inside. There was only one thing he could do and without much thought, he pulled out his phone and dialed. He didn't want to call and disturb Dean's sleep, but he knew that Dean was already pissed enough at him for sending him to the motel room when he clearly wanted to stay, but he'd never forgive him if he didn't let him know what was happening to Sam.

Dean was over-protective of Sam and sometimes he accused him of coddling the boy, but John knew full well that it was due mostly to Dean taking on the role of parent far too often while the boys were young and he couldn't take them with him, leaving them for days at a time in crappy motel rooms all over the country. They never had a permanent home, they only had each other and acknowledging that now, sent another spear of regret in his heart. He should have been a more attentive parent to them, he knew, but God-forgive him, he had had a job to do: He had to find the thing that killed Mary, keep it from doing what it had done to her from coming after his kids and if that meant killing every damned, evil creature from here to the ends of the earth in order to kill it, then he would.

"_Hello?" _He heard is oldest son pick up after a few rings.

"Dean..." John spoke curtly, trying tramp down the worry in his voice. "You need to get down here." He didn't need to say any more than that and hung up the phone before Dean could start asking question he couldn't answer.

OOOOOOOOOO

Thankfully for Dean, the hospital was only a few minutes drive from the motel, traffic was light at this time of night and he made it there in record time. Not that he was keeping track of that, his thoughts were solely on getting to his brother as quickly as possible. Squealing into a parking space, he was running for the hospital's doors before the engine had completely shut off.

Once inside, he didn't bother with waiting for the elevator, instead took the stairs two at a time up to the third floor where Sam's room was. Immediately after pushing his way through the door to the floor, he caught sight of his father, standing outside of Sam's room, looking up and over at him. Even from his vantage point at the end of the hall, Dean caught a sense tension coming off of his dad.

Wasting little time, Dean was up to his father seconds later. "Dad?...what's going on?...Is Sam okay?"

"Sammy...he was having a hard time breathing. I don't know much more than that."

"Why aren't you in there?"

John didn't get a chance to respond, but from the fierce look in his face, Dean could see that he had struck a raw nerve in his father and he regretted asking. As soon as Dean had finished his question, the door beside them opened and a short, younger doctor, one Dean hadn't seen before, stepped out and turned to John.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes."

"I'm Dr. Berkowitz." he held out his hand, but John didn't take it, instead, he went right into questions.

"What's going on? What's wrong with my son?" the doctor lowered his hand somewhat awkwardly before sticking them into his pockets.

"Well, we need to run some tests..."

Dean cut him off, frustrated with being in the dark. "What kind of tests?"

"We need to do a CT scan before we can be certain of a proper diagnosis..."

"What do you think is going on?" John asked , clearly just as frustrated as Dean and needing the doctor to cut to the chase. Dr. Berkowitz began speaking rapidly, pulling his hands out of his pockets and gesturing as he talked.

"Sam is stable for the moment, but is showing the classic signs and symptoms of a pulmonary embolism, which is a blood clot in either of his pulmonary arteries. It most likely formed in his leg as part of the healing process there, but broke loose, traveled up a vein and lodged in his lung, blocking flow of blood into his lungs and making it difficult to get enough oxygen into his system. It's not uncommon for this to occur after injuries like Sam's, but it is quite serious. So what we'll do is perform a CT scan to determine if there _is_ a clot, how big it is and where it is located exactly. If we do find a clot, we will most likely have to perform a catheter embolectomy to take it out since the use of thrombolytics and clot-busting drugs are contra-indicated due to his injury and could cause severe bleeding."

Most of what he spouted went over Dean's head, and while he did his best to follow the doctor's explanations and pick out the parts that mattered the most, he still had one burning question that demanded an answer right away. "Is he gonna be okay? I mean...what are his chances here?"

"Actually, I think his chances are really good if we can find and remove the clot quickly enough."

Dean swallowed the rising fear down and looked to his father. John nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to the doctor and Dean saw just how exhausted he appeared. He had deep bags under his eyes, he hadn't shaved in days and the stubbly, five o'clock shadow he started out with before the hunt was thick enough now to rival Grizzly Adams' beard. "Do what you whatever you need to do to help him."

"We will." The doctor assured him and seconds later Dean saw an orderly emerge from Sam's room.

"We're ready to move him, Doctor." He said.

"Good, let's get him up to CT, they should be waiting for us." The other man nodded and went back into the room, moments later he was back, this time walking backward as he pulled Sam's hospital bed out of the room. Dean was moving to him before the bed was even completely out of the room, causing the orderly to stop the bed. He looked down at Sam's face and though his nose and mouth were covered by an oxygen mask, he could still see the corner of his mouth curl up weakly when he recognized his brother was by his side.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean ruffled his hair.

"Dean." Sam could barely be heard as he spoke with a wheeze then slowly blinked as a single tear escaped and rolled down his face. Dean could see the fear written in his face and much of it he felt himself. But, he plastered on a cocky smile in order to show his little brother that if he wasn't afraid, then he didn't have to be either, even if on the inside Dean was scared to death.

"You're gonna be fine, alright? Dad and I got your back and we'll make sure the doctors get you better."

"Or what?..." Sam whispered brokenly, struggling to breathe between words, but still slightly grinning in a way that left Dean feeling some relief in seeing some of the fear in Sam's eyes dissipate. "You'll...kick... their...asses?"

Dean gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah...something like that."

"We got to get moving." The doctor interrupted them, starting to push the bed forward and Dean lost his grip on Sam, but followed after them, his father right taking off with them as well on the opposite side.

When they reached a set of double doors, the orderly continued to push Sam's bed through, but the doctor stopped and held up a hand before John and Dean could pass through as well.

"I'm sorry, but only one of you can come with us, there just isn't enough room in the control room for the both of you."

Dean felt his heart drop, looked towards his father and met his eyes. He hoped his dad would see his need to stay with Sam and would recognize the fact that he had always been there for his brother when he was hurting or sick, how he had practically been the one that had raised him growing up and how much it would kill Dean to be left behind. But John squared his shoulders and hardened his features, his mind made up.

"Dad-" Dean nearly pleaded.

"No Dean. I'm his father...I need to be with him."

Dean felt like arguing, like telling him off and yelling at him about all the other times he and Sam needed him, but he wasn't there. However, Dean caught something in his father's eye: his own need to make up for some of the mistakes he had made and for a chance to make some of them right. Dean had almost forgotten the fight between his brother and father on the mountain and maybe they both needed this: Sam needed to know his father cared while John needed to be the parent he sometimes forgot he was.

Reluctantly, Dean backed off, feeling the wind go out of his sails as John disappeared behind the doors, leaving him on his own to sit around and wait. Frustration, anger, worry and an utter sense of uselessness crashed into each other all at once they and Dean felt like hitting something.

So he did.

His fist flew out, hitting the solid brick of the wall beside him. Pain immediately shot up from his knuckles and hand.

_Damn, that was stupid_, he thought. But despite the pain, the release of pent-up emotion had been liberating. If only he could use his fists to somehow make Sam better...

Wincing, he shook it out and swore, but not before he heard an angry voice shout at him.

"Dean! What the hell, man?" Caleb was on him a moment later, he must have followed him here to the hospital from the motel room. "Jeez...your hand" he growled as he grabbed it.

Dean cared little for the blood dribbling down from his knuckles to the floor, but Caleb apparently did and was dragging him away to the bathroom.

Caleb practically pushed him to the sink and turned the water on for him. "Wash your hand."

He ordered in a way that reminded Dean a little too much of his father.

"It's fine." Dean snapped back, snatching his hand away from Caleb's grip, but he found his hand being thrust under the water anyway. He didn't want his help and he certainly didn't want him telling him what to do and treating him like a child having a temper tantrum. Caleb would never be able to understand what he was feeling right then; how he felt as though he could never stand up to his father even when he took away the one job he took the most seriously: taking care of Sam, staying with him through thick and thin, protecting him from pain and fear. One felled swoop, John had pulled the 'I'm the father' card and stolen the one thing that mattered most to Dean and he still wasn't sure how to process it all.

Sure, he was most likely over-reacting, but Dean couldn't help but feel like he was being pushed aside.

After a few moments under the water, Dean pulled his hand away once again and stalked off to the paper towel dispenser, angrily ripping several sheets out and pressing them onto his bloodied and sore knuckles.

"What's going on, Dean?" Caleb approached, concern in his voice. "What happened?"

Dean sighed, feeling a little ashamed for acting so foolishly towards Caleb as he was only trying to help. He went on to explain what was going on with Sam and what little he understood about what was happening to him.

"So, that's why you tried to take down the wall with your bare fist?" Caleb asked wryly.

Dean shook his head. "I guess...I suppose I was just...I dunno...like I was letting Sam down, ya know? Like I should be doing something, but there isn't anything I can do...I'm just useless."

"Dean-" Now it was time for Caleb to shake his head. "I hate to break this to ya, kid, but there are always going to be times when we have to trust in others to fix things and you can't always be in control. That doesn't necessarily mean you're useless and I'm pretty damned sure that Sam doesn't think that, so why don't you just give yourself a break."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. His hand was starting to swell and throb in time to his heartbeat and before he could open them again, he felt a hand resting on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and found himself being pulled to the door.

"C'mon, boy...let's get you patched up and caffeinated. Looks like we're in for a long night."

OOOOOOOOOO

Sam wasn't usually claustrophobic, but being unable to move coupled with tight, labored and painful breathing while inside of the small, enclosed confines of the scanner had his heart racing.

He stared at the top of the tube he was in. The tip of his nose had to be only an inch or so awat from it and even though he closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the feeling of being buried alive and suffocating.

He chest constricted and each breath became harder and harder to pull in. Try as he might to force the panic away, it was becoming more and more like a Chinese finger trap, the more he struggled the tighter everything became and the more fear took over and his thoughts became a frightening mantra:

_Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't breathe._..._Can't...Breathe!..._

He shifted uncomfortably. He just wanted out of this damned thing and he didn't want to be alone.

"You need to hold still, Sam." he heard a voice echo into the tube, but he didn't give a damn what they wanted him to do, he needed to breathe, dammit! He needed out!

"Sammy! Listen to the doctor." Now Dad's voice was barking at him. Well, fuck him too, he didn't need his orders- not now...he needed air and they were killing him in this thing. He wheezed, trying to draw in a breath, but the pain in his chest was growing worse.

_Please, somebody let me out!_ He wanted to shout, but his voice wouldn't work without any oxygen in his lungs.

"Sam...you need to calm down." John ordered again, but his words were useless to Sam now. Panic had him in its grip and it wasn't letting go.

_Let me out, let me out...let me breathe, let me breathe!...please, please, please!..._

OOOOOOOOOO

"Dean!" Dean looked up from bench he shared with Caleb in the hall outside Sam's room and saw his father jogging up to him.

Seeing the concern on his face, had Dean adrenaline pumping and he was on his feet in a flash, his mind racing to all of the things that could have gone wrong with his brother. Was he worse? Was he dying? He almost didn't want to know, yet at the same time, not knowing was worse.

"Dad...what is it?" He asked, racing up to his father.

"Sam needs you right now. He's having a hard time getting in the scanner and he won't listen to me. You need to talk to him."

Dean was in the control room with the doctor moments later, looking through the window into the room where the scanner loomed like a giant over his little brother. Sam was laying down at the end of the scanner, his breath fogging up the mask over his face in fretful puffs. He was shaking his head towards the technician with him, refusing to be sent back into the coffin-like machine.

"How do I talk to him?" Dean asked the doctor.

"Just press this button here and hold it down while you talk."

Dean nodded and pressed the button, leaning close to the glass so that when Sam heard him, he'd be able to see him as well.

"Sammy...you little bitch, what the hell are you doing?"

Sam instantly turned his head and met Dean's eyes, relief flooding his features. "Don't tell me you're actually afraid of that thing. It's just a machine, it's not like it's Skynet, it's not self-aware and it won't hurt you."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. Dean knew he didn't want to go back in there, he also knew Sam had to feel foolish for letting panic get the best of him. He had to lighten Sam's mood if he was to get him back in there. "Hey Sam...tell you what. You get back in that tube and I'll tell you the story about how I, yours truly, got to see Kendra Wilson, the head cheerleader at that crap high school we went to in Indiana, make out with her friend, Stephanie Ames behind the bleachers one day after school. True story..."

Sam shook his head, but Dean saw his body relax as he went into the tale. The doctor shot him a couple of disgusted looks as he went on, but Sam did go back into the scanner and managed to complete the scan without another incident. In fact, by the time Dean had finished talking and Sam was being taken out of the machine, he had relaxed enough to fall into a light sleep.

Dean was momentarily pleased with himself and the feeling of helplessness he had felt earlier had dissolved somewhat. But all of that was to change when the Doctor beside him furrowed his brow as he studied the computer image of the scan.

"Damn...that's not good." Dr. Berkowitz muttered to himself, not realizing how intensely Dean was watching him or how his words caused his heart to thump wildly in his chest.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: I know ... it been forever and a day since I updated this story and quite frankly I wasn't even sure if I was ever going to get back into it. But after a few nudgings from some of you wonderful reviewers out there, I got the ball rolling on this again. I'm hoping that one or two more chapters should wrap this baby up. Thanks again for reading and I promise not to take so long with the next update. Again, there is no beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.**_

_**P.S.: There's medical stuff in this chapter that I am completely unqualified to write about and many liberties (most of them completely made-up) were taken in the writing of this.**_

**Chapter 10**

"What?" Dean asked, his voice reflecting his rising anxiety. "What is it?"

"Oh..." The doctor turned and looked up at dean from his seat in front of the computer screen as if he just remembered that he was in the room with him. "Uh...come take a look."

Dean shifted over to stand behind the doctor and bent down to look at the image on the screen. He had no idea what he was looking at, but it was pretty disturbing to know that he was looking at his little brother's innards.

The doctor pointed to a dot on the screen. "Looks like your brother has a near total occlusion here in his right pulmonary artery...there's hardly any blood flow into his lung."

Dean felt sick to his stomach. "But you can fix it, right?"

"We got to get him up to surgery right away, but hopefully we can remove it with the catheter."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Dean asked tightly.

"Hold on." The doctor lifted a finger to Dean as he grabbed the nearby phone. Dean felt like snapping that condescending finger off, but knew that wouldn't be good to do that to the doctor that was about to operate on his brother. However, he let his irritation show brightly on his face.

"This is Dr. Berkowitz, I need the cath lab ready … I'm bringing a patient up with a P.E. ... ten minutes? Good. Thanks."

The doctor turned back to Dean. "We're going to take your brother up to surgery now and you can see him on his way up, but you won't be able to stay in the catheter lab with him."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. He headed out of the tiny computer room and came out just as Sam was being wheeled away from the scanner. He went directly towards his brother whose face was now a disturbing shade of deathly grey even with the oxygen mask covering most it.

Sam's eyes were closed, but when Dean touched his hand, his eyelids fluttered open weakly. "Dean …"

"Hey, Sammy." Dean tried to plaster on a smile of confidence - he wouldn't be helping Sam much if he showed just how really scared he was. "The doctors need to take you upstairs to get you fixed up."

Sam closed his eyes again and nodded tiredly. Dean could see the effort it took for Sam to get a breath in, yet still it was worrying to have his normally talkative little brother so quiet. Dean stayed with Sam while his bed was wheeled to the next floor, keeping his hand firmly gripped on Sam's cold fingers. The procession stopped briefly before a set of double doors and Dean knew he wasn't going to be allowed to go any further.

He squeezed Sam's fingers and felt Sam return it with unexpected strength while his eyes opened once again, a single tear forming in the corner of his right eye and dripping lazily down to the pillow. "Dean …" He rasped. "Tell Dad … tell him …" Sam couldn't get enough air in to finish, but Dean knew what he was trying to say.

Dean ruffled his shaggy hair. "Hey … none of that crap, bitch. You can tell him yourself when you're done in there, got it?"

Through the mask on Sam's face, Dean could see a ghost of grin quirked up around the corners of his mouth.

"Fine … jerk."

And that was that. Sam was taken away again, and Dean was left standing there staring at the door as it swung back and forth.

OOOOOO

Sam felt Dean's hand slip from his fingers as he was taken away from him and whisked down a long hallway.

Things blurred in and out and time seemed to jump randomly. One second he was in the hall and the next he was on a surgical table with masked doctors and nurses hovering over him. The doctor spoke to him, but his words didn't hold Sam's attention as he drifted, too tired to even nod his head he was asked how he was doing.

The tightness in Sam's chest was getting worse; a vice grip around his lungs that he couldn't shake off and breathing was becoming more and more of a chore. Fear gripped him almost as tightly and trying to control it when he couldn't take a deep inhale, sent his head into a spiral. The doctor explained that he wasn't going to be knocked out for this, but he almost wished he could be then at least if he died, he'd never see it coming. He's just slip away in his sleep, and for someone who grew up with the chance of his life coming to a violent and bloody end with every hunt he and his family went on, that actually sounded pretty good.

And how screwed up was that? He was eighteen years old and thinking about how nice it would be if he could die now on this table rather than later on in some kind of bloody heap.

Sam tried to keep his eyes closed through the procedure, but a sudden stabbing pain clutched his chest and his eyes flew open when he realized that no matter what he did, no air was getting into his body. He couldn't breathe at all. His eyes flew open and his hand scrabbled for the sheet beneath him. In his greying vision, dark spots floated over him and he knew this was it ... was going to die. The doctor was starting to bark orders, none of which registered with Sam as everything went dark.

OOOOOOO

This was taking too long.

John glanced at the clock again and swore seeing that the minute hand hadn't moved despite the fact that it felt like an hour since he looked up at it.

Dean paced back and forth, sipping on his fourth cup of coffee. Seeing his oldest son's agitation made John want to switch Dean to decaf.

Where was that doctor? Shouldn't they have been done by now? Had something gone wrong?

John couldn't focus on one question long enough as his mind swirled a mixture of worry with guilt. They wouldn't even be here if John hadn't lost control, if he hadn't hit Sam, making him take off into those damned woods all by himself. He had to swallow hard in order to open up his tightening throat.

Dean suddenly stopped pacing and John looked up.

"Mr. Winchester?" The doctor spoke as he approached.

John was on his feet immediately. "How is he?"

"Well … why don't you have a seat?"

Shit. It was never good when someone told you to have a seat. Well, damn that – he'd stay on his feet.

"Doctor, just tell me how my son is." John demanded, "… please." He added when the younger man gave him a taken aback look.

"Well … the procedure went well. We managed to remove the clots that were occluding your son's lungs—"

John knew there was a 'but' coming.

"But … there was a complication during the catheterization and Sam went into respiratory arrest …"

Dean was suddenly by his side, his face pasty white. "What? But he's okay, right?"

"We had to intubate him and we have him on a respirator for now … I have to warn you though, Sam's right lung was severely deprived of oxygen and there is the possibility that there was cell necrosis."

"Necrosis? What does that mean?" Dean demanded to know.

"It means that part of Sam's lungs may have died and there may be permanent damage. I don't want to alarm you and we won't know that for certain until we can run more tests, but I would like to keep him on the vent for at least 48 hours to allow his lungs a chance to recover. Hopefully that will minimize any possible damage."

"Can we see him?" John asked, beating Dean to the question.

The doctor nodded. "Once we have him settled in the ICU, I'll have a nurse will take you to him."

The doctor beat a hasty retreat after that, perhaps sensing the darkening mood of the room and not wanting to get caught in the circle of emotions radiating off of the two men.

**_Two days later _**

Dean scrubbed a bone-weary hand across his stubbly face then glanced across the room where his father had finally succumbed to a fitful sleep within the arms of the chairs.

His sight returned once again to Sam, who lay as motionless as ever, still heavily sedated with the ventilator doing the work of breathing for him. It was hauntingly quiet in the room with only the swoosh and hiss of the vent echoing off the walls.

He leaned forward a little closer to his brother and started to speak softly to him in order not to wake his father from his much-needed rest. "Hey, Bro … The nurse was just here. She says they're gonna start weaning you off of this contraption and as long as you cooperate and keep breathing on your own they're gonna let you start to wake up too. So … " Dean swallowed and tried to keep the tone of his voice light without allowing it to crack, "you better do it …'cause …ya know … it's kinda boring talking to you when you don't have much to say back. "

There was a rustling coming from the chair Dad slept in, "Dean? You say the nurse was here? Why didn't you wake me up?"

Somehow Dad had slept through the nurse's visit, but had heard the soft one-sided conversation Dean had just had with his brother. He cleared his throat, feeling somewhat self-conscious.

"You needed the sleep, Dad."

"Could say the same about you, son." John said as he yawned then stretched. "How is he?"

"The same." Dean responded.

The rest of the day Dean kept a close watch on Sam while the vent was slowly taken off for periods at a time until finally the decision was made to remove the tube in his throat and allow Sam to breath completely on his own. It was an immense relief to see that tube gone and to be able to look on Sam's face without anything obstructing it besides the nasal cannula.

Sam was still pretty out of it thanks to the sedation, but inch by inch he worked his way back to the land of the living and by that evening, he was starting to stir.

"D'n?" Sam rasped, his voice raw, weak and tired, but Dean didn't think he had ever heard such a welcome sound.

**_Three weeks later_**

"You ready?" Dean asked.

"God, yes." Sam grinned.

"Good. Let's blow this popsicle stand, shall we?"

Sam couldn't say that he had ever been happier to leave a place than he was now - he was so sick of being stuck in this damn place, of tests, IV's, of his brother looking like death warmed-over because he wasn't taking care of himself. But, Sam was better now, his infection had cleared and he hadn't had a fever in over a week and his lungs had escaped any permanent damage thanks to the embolism. His leg still looked like hamburger, but that too was healing and he'd be starting physical therapy tomorrow to help it grow stronger and his doctors were optimistic that he'd be walking again and should have full range of motion again one day.

He still would be on heparin for quite a while to prevent any more blood clots, but all in all, this was the best he had felt in weeks and he was more than elated to be going home … or at least what could be called 'home' for now.

"Where's Dad?" He asked.

"Pulling the car around." Dean replied grabbing the crutches next to the door while a nurse began to push Sam's wheelchair down the long hallway towards the exit.

Sam nodded and glanced over at his brother. He had a smile fixed on his face and it lightened Sam's heart even more than leaving the hospital. Dean had aged far too quickly these last few weeks and it was nice to see him relax, even just a little bit. But, he hated the fact that he had been the cause of Dean's distress, and guilt once again grabbed him.

Once out to the curb, Sam took in the sight of the long, black car idling on the asphalt and breathed a sigh of contentment. Even before reaching the house that their father had found for them to live in, he felt like he was at home.

Dean helped ease Sam into the backseat so he could stretch his injured leg out. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Sam tried not to grimace. Any movement of his leg still brought pain, but it was manageable.

"'kay." Dean gave him a quick grin then shut the door behind him before hopping into the passenger side seat.

Sam saw his father's eyes in the rearview mirror and he swore he could almost see a smile in them.

The trip to the house as uneventful, but being free of the hospital grounds and feeling the rumble of the engine beneath him, left Sam feeling a sense of peace and he was soon transported into the arms of Morpheus, dozing until the car came to a final stop.

Sam opened his eyes and looked out the window, a sigh escaping his lips at the sight of the old, clapboard house that greeted him. The word 'house' may not have come first to Sam's mind looking at the place - 'Shack' was more like it, but Dean had explained that while the place was pretty crappy, it was free. In other words, they were squatting.

"Hey Cinderella … your coach has arrived at the palace. You ready for the ball?" Dean announced as he twisted his head around to look at Sam.

"Shaddup." Sam groaned with a yawn.

"C'mon. Let's get you inside."

**_Six weeks later_**

Dean would have liked have said that everything was rainbows and butterflies in the Winchester family once Sam was out of the hospital, but that was not the case.

Yes, Sam was better and he was walking now with the use of a cane, but his brother was sullen and brooding lately and Dean had yet to get him to tell him why. Dad wasn't any different than Sam, but Dean reasoned that some of that was due to the fact that they had been stuck in this town and he hadn't been on a hunt since Sam was injured and was going a little stir crazy.

His dad had actually taken on a few odd jobs here and there to earn some cash while Sam continued his PT, but Dean felt his father's desire to get back to hunting and back to what's normal for them. Sam however, clearly did not look forward to getting back in the game and they closer he got to the end of his physical therapy sessions at the rehab center, the more distant he became and that was starting to lead to tension in the little house they shared.

There were plenty feelings of guilt and anger still over what happened to go around, but both Sam and Dad stubbornly refused to address those issues, choosing instead to let their fear and remorse simmer under the surface until the pressure built. And like two volcanoes, when the pressure got to be too much, they both blew their tops and oftentimes Dean was caught between the explosions, not daring to take sides.

Sometimes though, he just wanted to tie them both up to a chair and lock them in a room until they actually talked to each other.

Things became decidedly worse the day Dad came home saying he had received a call from Caleb about a possible demon that he suspected was hiding out in Wisconsin. Caleb couldn't take it on since he was on the hunt for a shifter down in Boston, but wanted to know if John was up for the hunt now that Sam was out of the hospital.

"I told Caleb I would go." Dad informed them, already packing his bags. "It shouldn't take long … maybe a week. Dean … you'll have to stay here with Sam and make sure he makes it to his PT appointments."

Dean wasn't too pleased with this turn of events, but Sam was even more unnerved than he was.

"You can't be serious … you're gonna go and take on a demon by yourself?" Sam asked.

"I've done it before, Sam."

"What about back-up?"

"Look … there's a good chance that if I catch this thing I can get some intel on the thing that killed your mother. I can't pass that up."

"And what if you get hurt?" Sam was on his feet, hobbling from the couch where he had been sitting. "There's got to be someone else that can do this or who can at least help you. What about Pastor Jim or Bobby?"

Dean could almost hear Dad's teeth grinding in irritation. "Drop it, Sam. I'm going and that's final. You and Dean are to stay here and you're going to work on getting that leg back into fighting shape so that when I get back you can start training again."

Sam's jaw dropped even as anger flashed in his eyes. "You're kidding me, right? You want me to start training again? Why? What's the point, it'll be months before I can hunt again."

At this point, Dean was on the edge of siding with Sam. His brother was still on blood thinners and any small injury could lead to uncontrollable bleeding.

"I'm not talking about hand-to-hand combat training here, Sam. We're still going to need you on the research end of things and doing a little target practice and Latin studies won't hurt. I just don't want you to get off your game too much, that's all. Now I'm going. I'll call you both when I get there."

Sam was still simmering with anger even after Dad left, slamming the door behind him.

"He'll be fine, Sammy." Dean tried to reassure him, certain that most of the anger Sam directed towards their father was caused more by concern than anything else. Dean was worried too about Dad going after a demon on his own, but when John Winchester laid down the law and gave orders, Dean found it almost impossible to question him.

"Don't call me 'Sammy'." Sam shot back.

"Geez, what bug crawled up ass and died, _Sammy?_" Dean himself was getting irritated now. "Why do you have to go and antagonize him all of the time, huh? And what's with you lately anyway? You're even bitchier than normal."

"I don't want to talk about it, Dean."

Sam grabbed the cane leaning up against the couch and started limping away, turning his back on his brother and leaving the room.

Dean wasn't going to let this go – not this time. He followed after Sam to the bedroom and found his little brother sitting on the bed, looking forlornly out the window. He sighed heavily and Sam turned at the sound, "What?" He asked, testy.

"C'mon … you gonna tell me what's been going on in that ginormous brain of yours? I get the feeling this isn't just about Dad taking off. You've been brooding more than usual and I want to know why. "

"Not now, Dean."

"Talk to me, Sam." Dean insisted, "Dad's not here, so if this about him -"

"It's not."

"Then what?"

Sam looked down at his hands. "It's nothing." He muttered.

"That's a load of bullshit if I ever heard it." Dean softened his tone minutely, hoping to pry a little further into Sam's shell. "C'mon, something's eating at you."

Sam seemed to contemplate whether or not to open up to Dean, then looked back out the window. However, he started to speak, keeping his gaze firmly planted on the outside world. "You remember that letter I got – the one from Stanford?"

Dean felt his stomach twist. He had been hoping that Sam had seen reason and realized that college was an impossible pipe-dream. "Yeah … " he replied weakly.

"I missed the first semester ..."

"Hey man … s'no big deal, right? You weren't seriously thinking about going anyway, were you?"

At that, Sam turned his head towards Dean, his eyes taking on a wounded expression that sent daggers into Dean's chest. "Yeah … I was." He told Dean point-blank without anything to cushion the blow.

"Sam …" Dean dragged his name out. "C'mon … we need you here, with me and Dad."

"No, you don't." Sam shook his head. "You and Dad … you're the hunters in this family. I'm not. You know it ... Dad knows it –"

"That's not true –" Dean tried to counter, but Sam cut him off and his next proclamation slammed Dean hard in his gut.

"Yes it is … and that's not all … I don't want to be a hunter, Dean. I never did - " Sam's voice ratcheted up in intensity, "I'm sick and tired of chasing our tails all over the country for something we'll probably never find and I'm tired of being afraid all of the time, of worrying about whether the next hunt will get us all killed –"

"Sam, stop." Dean tried to end Sam's sudden diarreah of the mouth, but his brother was on a roll.

"There's more … you wanted to know what's bugging me, well here it is:" Sam reached down and pulled his duffel out from under the bed then opened it up, pulling out a much-handled envelope. He held it reverently for a moment before passing it off to Dean, "Read it." He insisted.

Dean reluctantly took hold of it and pulled the sheet of paper within it out, unfolding it before he started to read:

_Dear Mr. Winchester,_

_Due to your extenuating circumstances, it is the determination of the financial aid office and the Stanford scholarship award board to extend the acceptance date of your scholarship to no later than 15 January, 2002 …_

Dean would have kept reading, but Sam continued to speak, "I uh … I called them and let them know that I was still interested in attending, but that I was injured and needed more time. They're still offering me the scholarship – full tuition, plus books, and room and board – all I have to pay for is food."

"No, Sam … you can't ...But ..." Dean had a hard time stringing his frenzied thoughts into spoken words, "This is only a few weeks away."

"I know, but it's just college, Dean and this is what I want … what I've always wanted." Sam threw him one of the most heart-wrenching, kicked puppy looks he had ever seen. "I was hoping you would be a little more supportive." Sam hung his head and let his voice drop. "Guess I was wrong."

"Awww Dammit, Sammy … " Dean felt his throat constrict, "you know how Dad is gonna react to this. What am I supposed to tell him, huh? I mean … you almost died just a couple of months ago … you know he just wants to keep you safe and the only way to do that is for you to stay with us –"

"Safe? You call chasing after demons, werewolves and poltergeists 'safe'? I wouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place if we hadn't been out on that damned hunt. I'm only going to college, something normal people do and I won't be anywhere near anything supernatural … I'll be _studying_ for God's sake. There's little chance I'm going to get mauled by anything between my dorm room and classes."

"So that's what this is really about, isn't it? You got hurt and now you're too scared to get back into the hunt–"

"Screw you, Dean." Sam voice jumped an octave and about 4000 decibels. "Maybe I am scared – but not just for myself, you jackass. I'm scared for you and for Dad too. This isn't any kind of life for anyone to lead and Dad's obsessive need for revenge isn't worth you or him getting killed. "

Now Dean was just pissed. "We don't hunt for kicks and you know it, Sam. We help people -"

"I know … but it's going to be the end of you someday and I don't think I can watch that happen. I can't do this anymore, Dean ... I just can't." Sam set a determined glare on Dean that reminded him a little too much of their father. "I'm going and that's all there is to it."

**_Two days later_**

_Balsam Lake, Misconsin_

The demon that wore the pretty blond woman's body sneered at John, showing off a row of bloody teeth. Tied to a chair and under the power of the devil's trap above, it wasn't going anywhere and it knew it, but that still didn't stop it from taunting John with lies.

"Go ahead and do it, Johnny. You can exorcize me if you want, but it's not going to change anything."

"You're lying." John replied flatly, betraying none of the frightening emotions welling up inside of him.

"Am I?" It smiled smugly. John smashed it across the mouth again, hoping to wipe that grin off. It only had the opposite effect. "You wanted to know why yellow eyes killed your pretty little wife, didn't you? But you just don't like hearing the truth because it isn't what you wanted to hear. Well the truth hurts, Johnny."

John unscrewed the flask of holy water in his hand and approached slowly. "You better stop lying and give me the real deal or I'm gonna take my time before I send you back to Hell." He jiggled the bottle.

"Fuck you."

"Fine … have it your way." He glowered then pulled the demon's hair back pouring the sanctified water down its gullet. "Choke on this, bitch."

The demon roared and screamed as the water burned down its throat and steam billowed from its mouth. Somewhere deep down inside, John all at once felt a mixture of glee and repulsion for his actions.

He stopped when he had emptied half of the flask then recapped it. "You ready to stop lying yet?"

Head hanging, the demon panted and growled. It then lifted its head and began chuckling in a way that raised John's hackles. "I'm not lying. You should have let Sammy die out in those woods, Johnny - we got big plans for him -" It smiled gleefully, "Big plans."

"What plans?" John demanded, raising the flask again.

The demon spit out a mouthful of blood on John's shoe. "Trust me, John … you don't want to know."

**_TBC…_**


End file.
